THE BUTLER HERALD.
W. N. 8ENNS.
A WEEKLY democratic newspaper,devoted to industry and civilization.
OXK DOLLAR A YKAlt.
BUTLER, GEORGIA. TIJESltAY, .TUN 1*1 IO. 1S59.
WHOLE NUMBER 1 HU
THE BUTLER HERALD.
W. N. BKNN8.
Editor and Piillslior.
Buiwokiption pBton $1.00. Peb Annum.
TUESDAY JUNE 10th 1879.
Saved ly a Look*
Horace Manning stood in the
barroom of‘The Wanderer's Itot,’
a cigar between ills liand a
gla 1 s of ale in his hand. A br’ght
fire was burning in the stove, round
which a group of men were sitting.
Each had his gla»s, and nearly
every one had bis pipe or his ci
gar. Curls of smoke m muted
lazily to the ceiling, and the air
was beginning to take a faint blue
tint. It was early in the evening,
and the ufen in the barroom had
not yet drunk so much as to lose
their smses or their temper. The
night was dark and cold, and the
brilliant lights and gaudy orna
ments ot “The \\ anderer s Rest
looked cheerful and nUrnotivo to
the shivering ones without.
Horace Manning had Intel ' fal
len iuto he habit ot going into the
barroom as he went home from his
work, and ot standing there long
enough to drink a gln^s of ale and
silt ok* ■ a cigar. He was tiled with
being behind a desk all day; and
be thought it re« f ed him to look
nt the conten'ed lace*, and listen
hfth** conversation and laughter
in ‘ The Wanderer's Rest.*' True,
1 ho fins!) on some of the faces wn>
too ih op to b. the flu b of health,
and the laughter whs sometimes
hoarse; but Horace did not think
of that. He was in n.> danger, he
thought, of ever caring to spend
his evenings by that tire, or ot ex
changing his nure complexion lor
such a one as some of his compan
To night he was unusually tired.
A mistake made some days ago by
the bookkeeper had been discover
ed, and it had taken Horace some
hours to look over the books and
He had not intended to enter
“The Wundi-rei ’s Rest,’' for he hail
promised to take pretty Miliy White
to a lecture that evening, and he
knew that she disliked the odor of
tobacco. He would not have been
quite easy had he knowu that Mil
ly’s soft eyes had seen him enter
“The Wandeier’s Rest,” and that
even now she was standing at th
corner of the street watching anx
iously to see him reappear.
Very well,’ said the girl, but
said no more. Horace, to put an
end to his ubcnmfortahle feelings,
began a description of the lectlire.
He grew almost as eloqdetit as the
lecturer, Until, stealing a glance
at Miliy ai she sat opposite, he
saw a tear fall upon her hand.
He could not understand it, and
rising abruptly, said “Good-night’
and left the room.
The next evening, Miliy had an
errand to do in the street through
which she had pilssed the previous
night The hon e to which she was
goinsr was nearly opposite “The
Wanderer's Rest,’ and as she stood
on the step, waiting for the door to
open, she saw Horace again cuter
Two meni standing on the side
walk saw him and began to com
ment on him.
“A pity!'' said one.
“Yes,’ said the other, “he’s a
fine young man. I’m sorry to see
him take the first step.’
“It isn't the firdt step,’ was t.h«»
reply; “I’ve seen him go there
a many times lately. I’m afraid the
habit is fully formed."
‘Ill* mother’s a widow isn't she?'
“Yus; and lie’s her only son.’
The door was opened. It tvas
all th it-Miliy could do to auk in-
teligiblv for the person she wished
to se-\ and afterward to control
herself sufficiently to sav what she!
bail come to soy. During her stay
hn sal by a window whence sh;
could see the place into which Hor-
e had gone. He did nut come
out while she sat there; nur while,
ndttt the pretext of gathering up
her dress, she stood on the step and
ailed. Slowly she walked to the
iruer, hoping every instant to
hear Iun quick step behind her,
hut hoping in vain.
What could she do? The words
she had hoard rung in her ears.
She saw him ruined for life, and
with him her own and his own
happiness. It seemed more than
she cmld bear. She slopped at the
corner, and with a prayer for help,
wen-t rapidly ba> k toward “The
Horace Manning, distressed by
Milly's strange behavior the night
f ire, and tormenting himself as
to its cause, had spent an unhappy
day, and had determined to go di
rectly home, and ask her to tell
him what had distressed her. Ib
did not think of going into “The
Wanderer’s Rest,’ but habit had
grown stronger than he was aware
of, and almost before ho thonght,
he found himself in the barroom
No, I won't take ale to night/
Horace shook his head.
“In love?” At this a loud laugh
rang through fhe room.
“No,” said Horace shortly. • “1
am tired, and I came here to drink
my bratldy-and-water itt peace,"
“OhI she won’t let y<1ti drink it
at home,” was the rejoinder.
Another laugh went round.
Horace disdained to reply. He
raised the glass to his lips, and at
the same time, raised his eyes
upon my identifying her brother. Jchango come into her face; at/.rong de-
“I see him,'' I said. “He’s a | terminad look; and on the funeral like
silence of the room broke the sweet,
“ ‘Amid the permutations and com
binations of the actors and the forces
which make up tlin great kaleidoscope
of history, wo often find that a turn of
Destiny’s hand * ”
F very body about us tuined and look
ed- The brethleS8 silence; the sweet,
childish voice; the childish face; the
long, unchild-like words, produced a
miliarlty with those technical col-;weared effect.
lege terms that aha had closely *. But the help had come too late; the
very good-looking brother.
‘ Yes, he is beautiful,*' she said
with artless delight; “and he's so
good, and he studies so hard. He
has taken care of me ever since
mamma died. Here is his name
on the programme. He is not the
valedictorian, hut he has an hon
or, for all that.”
I saw in the little creaturp’s fa-
His g’ass went down Untested and identified herself with her brother’s unhappy brother was already stagger-
he sprang to his feet. Every one
in the room looked toward the door.
There, pale and trembling, rtood
Miliy White. She did not speak;
she only looked at Horace earnestly
for a moment, and turned away.
He threw down the payment for
his liquor, and rushed after her.
On the pavement, he found her
sobb ng. He drew her arm through
his. and said, as they took their
way home, “God Mess yon, Millv!
You have saved me.’’ And so she
At the let-table, Horace noticed. h<j (o ^ , and|ordj „ nor „ ci .
that Miliy looked -ed. Since herj Q .^ me & ^ brand
childhood she had lived with ,,_ wu > ul .
mother, aod he knew erery shade'
of feeling that flitted over the gen
tie face. Ho could not imagine
what had made her Bad, and telt
puzzled and niftiest irritated at her
silence during their walk to the
town hall, and her apparent indif
ference to the lecture. He was very
much interested, and when, at the
close of the lecture, the speaker
grew more eloquent over the poe
try of a happy household, he turn
ed in a glow of admiration to Mil
iy, aud smiled. The look that an
swered him Was not such as he was
accustom- d to receive from her; its
sudeees chilled him.
During their walk home, neither
of tnem spoke. After their return
Mis Manning said: “Howdid you
like the loot nre, Miliy ?’
nil customers were wailing, | , , , ,,
, , , , . • the dear grandmother;
time elapsed before his “
. | thought, “they will eeei
An vim ln.ilrpii rnimil 1 os •
turn came. As he looked round I
the loom, he saw an unoccupied
chair, aud sat down in it. A strange
fueling came over him as he did
60—a kind of shrinking from the
closer companionship with those
around him. But he shook oft’the
feeling half angrily.
“Pshaw!” he thought; “how
foolish I am! I shall probably nev
er sit here Again.”
At length the landlord brought
him his glass. He sat looking at
it in an absent manner,' and did
not taste it*
“Sick?” asked the red-faced* ttaa
at nis side as be saw th# untested
A SECOND TitlAL.
It was commencement at G->-—
College. The people were pourihg
into the church as I entered it.
rather tardy. Fiuding the choice
seats in fhe centre of the addienre
room already taken, I press'd for-
rd, looking to the right and the
left for a vacancy. On the very
front row of seats I fouud one.
Here a little girl moved along
to make room fof me, looking into
inv face with large fcyes, whose
brightness was softened by very
long lashes. Her fare was open
nil fresh as a newly blown rose
before sunrise. Again and again
I found my eyes turning to" th<
rose-like face, and each time th-
gray eyes moved, half smiling to
meet mine. Evidently the child
was ready to “make up” with :ne
And when, with a bright smile,
slu* returned my dropped handke
chief and 1 said “Thank you!” *
s eined failly introduced. Oth<
persons, now corning into thaseat,
crowded me quite close up to the
little girl, so that we soon felt
very well acquainted.
“There’s going to be a great
crowd,” she said to me
‘Yes,’ I replied; “peoplealways
like to see how school-boys un
made into men.”
Her face beamed with pleasun
and pride as she said:
*My brother’s going to gradu
ate; he’s going to 6peak; I’ve
brought these flowers to throw
They were not greenhouse favor
ites; just old-fashioued domestic
fl iwers, such as we associate with
and beautiful to him for little sis
“That is roy brother,” she went
on, pointing with her nosegay.
“The one with the light hair?’
“Oh no/* she said smiling .and
shaking her head in innocent re
proof; “not that homely one, with
red hair; that handsome one with
brown wavy hair. His eyes look
brown, too; but they are not—they
are dark-bine. There! he’s got
his hat»d % to his head now. You
see htttf / dofl’t you?"
In aff ease* way she looked from
me to him,' from him to me
is* VP sow*# iwyoFtent depended ^forgot
studios, hnprfl and successes.
“He thought, at first,’ she con
tinued, “that he would write on
the ‘Romance of Monatstic Life.’
What a strange sound these
long words had, whispered from
her childish lipsl Her interest in
her brother's work had stamped
them on the child’s memory, and
to her they were ordinary things.
But then” she went oil, ‘he
decided that he would rather write
Historical Parallels.’ and he’s
got real good oration, and he says
t beautifully. He has said it to
me a great ninny times. I almost
know it by heart, f h! it begins so
retty and so grand, This is the
way it begins, she added, encour
aged by the interest she must have
seen in my face ‘Amid the per
mutations and combinations of the
ctors and the forces which make
up the great kaleidoscope of histo-
y, we often find that a turn of
Destinie’s hand ’
Why, bless the baby! I thought,
looking down into her bright proud
face. I can t describe how very
hM and selfish it. did seem to have
those sonorous words rolling out
of the smiling infantile mouth.
The band, striking up, put an
end to the quotation and to the
As the exercises progressed, and
approached nearer and nearer the
ffort. on which all her interest
vas concentrated, my little friend
became excited and restless. Her
eyes grew larger and brighter, two
deep-red spots glowed on hercheeki
She touched up the flowers, fuan-
fe-tly making the offering ready
for the shrine,
‘Now, it’s his turn/ she said, turning
to me a face in which prideaucf delight
and anxiety seemed about equally min
gled. But when the overture whi
played through, and his name was call
ed, the child seemed, in her eaj
forget me and all the earth beside
him. She rose to her feet and leaned
forward for a better view of her belo
ed, as ho mounted to the apenkoi
stand. I knew by her deep breathing
that her heart was throbbing’ in her
throat. I knew, too, by the way her
brother cumo up the steps aud to the
front, that he was trembling. The
hands hung limp; his face was
pallid, and the lips blue as with
cold. 1 felt anxious. The child,
too, seemed to discern that things
were not well with him. Some
thing like fear showed in her face.
He made automatic bow. Then
a bewildered, struggling look came
into his face, then a h* Ip’ess look,
and then he stood staring vacant
ly, like a somnambulist, at the
waiting audience. The moments
of painful suspense went by, and
still he stood as if struck dumb. I
.-aw how it was, he had been seized
Alas! little sister! She turned her
large, dismayed eyes upon me. “He’s
i it./’ ihe Mod. Thun
ing in humiliation from the stage. The
hand quietly struck up, and waves of
lively music were rolled out to cover
I gave the little sister n glance in
which 1 meant to show the intense
sympathy I feltjbut she did not see me.
Her eyes swimming with * tears, were
on her brother’s face. I put my arm
around her. She was too absorbed to
heed the caress, and before I could ap
preciate her purpose, she was on her
way to the shame-stricken young man
silting with a fuee like a statute’s.
When he saw her by his side,the set
face relaxed, and n quick mist earns
into his eyes. The young men got
closer together to make room for her«
She sat down beside him,laid her flow
ers on his knee, aud slipped her hand
1 could not keep my eyes froefe! her
sweet, pietty face. 1 saw her whisper
to him, he bended a little to cat6h her
ords. Later,I found Out that she was
king him if he knew his “piece,” aud
that he answered yes.
When the young man next on the
lint had spoken, and while the band
playing, the child to tho brother’s
great surprise, made her way up the
stage stops, and pressed through tho
throng of professors and trustees, and
distinguished visitors, up to the college
“If you please, sir,” she said with a
little courtesy, “will you and trustees
let my brother try again? Ho knows
his piece now. 1 ’.
For a moment, the pi indent stared
at her through his gold bowed specta
cles, and then, appreciating the child’s
petition, he smiled on her, and went
down and spoke to the young man who
So it happened that, when the band
had again ceused playing, it w’ns brief
ly announced that Mr. -would now
deliver his oration—“Historical Par
“Amid the permutations and com
binations of the actors and forces which
make up the great kaleidoscope of his
tory—” This the little sister whisper
ed to him as he rose to answer the
A ripple of heightened and expec
tant interest passed over the audience
and then all sat stone-still, as though'
fearing to breath lest the speaker might
again take fright. No danger! tho
hero in the youth was aroused. H«
went at his “piece” with a set pur
pose to conquer, to redeem himself,and
to bring the smile back into the child's
tear-stained face. I watched the thee
dm ing the speaking. The wide eyes,the
parted lips, and whole rapt being said
that the breathless audience was for
gotten, that her spirit was moving
And when the address was ended
with the ardent abandon of one who
catches enthusiasm in the realization
that he is fighting down a wrong judg
ment and conquering a sympathy, the
effect was really thrilling. That dig
nified audience hroice into rapturous
applause; boquets intended for the val
edictorian rained like a tempest. An 1
the child who had helped to save the
day—that one beaming little face, in’
its pride and gladness, is something to
rift i b*> forever reiurmberftd.'—NWvnUt^'