The Butler herald. (Butler, Ga.) 1875-1962, June 10, 1879, Image 1

Below is the OCR text representation for this newspapers page.

THE BUTLER HERALD. Puh'tiihril l!v W. N. 8ENNS. A WEEKLY democratic newspaper,devoted to industry and civilization. Term, OXK DOLLAR A YKAlt. In Ainnw 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 ions had. 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 correct it. 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 the drinking-saloon. 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 Wanderer’s Rest.” 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 debt?” “No.” “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, brave, child-voice: “ ‘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 had. 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 • Be- and t 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 giant. 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 to him.' They were not greenhouse favor ites; just old-fashioued domestic fl iwers, such as we associate with but,” seem sweet and beautiful to him for little sis ter’s sake,” “That is roy brother,” she went on, pointing with her nosegay. “The one with the light hair?’ I asked. “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 nfidences, 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 with stage-fright. 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 the defeat. 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 in his. 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 president. “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 had failed. 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 allels.” “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 respons. 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 with his. 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^'