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volume vi.
CIIAI*TKU ON MISSES. '
The dear little Misses we meet with in life,
What hopes and what fears they awaken;
And when a man’s tauing a Miss for his wife,
He is Miss-led rs well as Miss-taken.
When I courted Miss Kidd, and obtained th(
kiss,
I thought, in the warmth of my passion,
That I’d make a great hit in thus gaining a
Miss,
But ’twas only a Miss-calculation.
For so many Misses surrounded Miss Kidd,
With me and my love interfering;
A jealous Miss-trust put into her head
That she ought not to give me a hearing.
There’s a certain Miss-chance that I met with
one day,
Almost sent my hopes to destruction;
And she felt a suspicion of all I might say,
And all owing to one Missconstruction.
Deceived by a Miss-information, I wrote,
The cause of her auger demanding;
Miss-direction prevented her getting the note,
And introduced Miss-understanding.
When to make her my wife I exultingly swore,
Miss-belief made her doubt my intention.
And I nearly got wed to Miss-fortune before
I could wean her from Miss apprehension.
But when she no longer would yield to Miss
doubt,
Nor be laid by Miss-representation,
tihe had with Miss-like a most serious fall out,
And to wed felt no more hesitation.
But when to the church to be married we
went,
Mixs-take made the parson to linger.
And I got so annoyed by an awkward Miss-fit,
I could not get the ring on her finger.
Haying been bo Miss-used, I now kept a strict
watch,
Though I still lived in fear of Miss-car
riage,
And I found, when too late, an unlucky Miss
match
Interfered with the joys of my marriage.
Miss-rule iu my dwelling put everything
wrong,
Miss-management there took her station,
Till my cash, like the time I take singing my
song,
Was all wasted by Miss-application.
LIVE FOR SOMETHING.
Live for something, be not idle—
Look about thee for employ:
Sit not down to useless dreaming—
Labor is the sweetest joy.
Folded hands are ever weary.
Selfish hearts are never gay,
Life for thee hath many duties —
Active be, then, while you may.
Scatter blessings iu the pathway!
Gentle words and cheering smilss
Better are than gold or silver
With their grief dispelling smiles.
As the pleasant sunshine falleth,
Ever on the grateful earth,
So let s} mpatliy and kindness
Gladden well the darkened hearth.
Hearts there are oppressed and weary;
Drop the tears of sympathy.
Whisper words of hope and comfort.
Give, and thy reward shall be
Joy unto thy soul returning,
From this perfect fountain he id,
Freely as thou freely givest,
Shall the giateful light be shed.
A Niglit in the Mountains.
[Concluded.]
The colonel's heart, as he would
have told you, was tender to any ol
the fair sex, and the truth was, all the
honest affection of which he was
capable had been given to this woman.
‘Good God, Eliscl have you come
back to me ?'
‘I—I never have been lost to you,
Louis !’
The words came as if wrenched
ftom her. Whatever was the passion
that had bound her to him it had nev
er yet been wakened in her bv her
husband; but the voice of this old
love roused it again. It mastered her
like a fiery poison running through her
veins. She said to herself lhat she
was Tom Sevier's wife, and that God’s
law—
i only came to ask you to forgive
%\)t jfcvmtnum fptnM,
me, Louis,' she amended.
'lt’s time, by Gee! You flung me
hard, Elise.’
Mrs. Sevier had dreamed of # this
meeting a thousand times; but these
were not the kind of words she had
heard in her dreams from her hero.
She looked up at him, and drew back.
This hero's mouth was yellow with to
bacco, and bis cheeks were bloated
and pimpled.
Yet; the magnetic power re
mained in him still. He took her
hands in his puffy, ringed ones, and
they shook as they never had done in
Tom Sevier's grasp.
‘That scoundrel Sevier maltreats
you.’
‘No, not'
1 *
‘I say he does! Why, your cheeks
are hollow as if you were forty years
old. And what kind of a shabby
dress is this ? I'd have hung velvet
and diamonds on you.'
Mrs. Sevier drew up her head. She
was forty years old, but Tom always
treated her like a girl of sixteen. He
would not think rags shabby if they
were on her.
The colonel was in a glow of tri
umph. lie had hated Sevier viciously
for twelve years, the humiliation of
being ’thrown' growing sharper as his
rival had succeeded in the world.
But. here was victory 1 He remarked
to himself that he knew how to seize
it'—with an oatli big enough in his
opinion to round the subject.
‘You are mine! Damnation, don't
say a word! You shall be mine, in
spite of all the Seviers alive. We’re
not as ycung as we once were, but
there's a good slice of life left us yet.
Ilush! here he comes. I’il meet you
by the ford to-morrow morning. You
remember the fbrd ?'
Yes. she remembered the ford.
She went slowly back to the other
room, and was standing by the lire
when Dr. Keyes entered.
‘Tom jTound that one of the hors
es —' iie began, and then stopped ab
ruptly, looking keenly at her. She
had seen the ghost! He perceived the
smell of tobacco from the adjacent
room, and glanced at the door. It was
shut. Turning again to Mrs. Sevier,
he found her eyes fixed on it with a
terrified fear of discovery.
‘Poor Tom!* thought Keyes, as he
beat a dreary tattoo on the window.
Mrs. Sevier sat down and stared in
the fire, her hands clasped on her knee.
She felt very much as a man who has
passed through an earthquake, and
finds his house, his belongings, his
very foothold a wreck beneath him.
What was this she had promised to
do ? To meet a friend in a casual
morning walk ! There was no wrong
to Tom in that. For years it had been
a kind of gospel with her, much more
forcible than that which she heard in
church, to believe in her first love, and
in the man to whom she gave it. She
had been used to listen to mournful
mufl’c, to find the voice of that first
love In it, and then to recall Tom’s
virtues with a sigh, acknowledging
to herself that he was the most emi
nently respectable of men, but that
her heart was irrevocably given to a
man of higher order. She was grop
ing about now miserably for this man,
bewildered by a cloud of stale tobac
co, whiskey, and oaths, breathed from
a sensual mouth. -
This middle-aged woman, looking
for her first love in Colonel Chaplin,
was not a fit subject for the savage
ridicule which Dr. Keyes was secretly
pouring on her head. It is no joke
when the religion of a life is proved
to us to be senseless folly and our
age and ugliness do not make the les
son any less black and bitter.
Meantime, Colonel Chaplin was lay
ing his plans. It must be remembered
that he was a man of violent passions
and naturally full of seething energy.
He had been in a forced state of idle
ness for a long time, and now, in the
very moment when life seemed emp
tiest to him, the woman lie had once
loved was placed within his grasp.
Nothing came between but a man he
hated, and the colonel's talent for hat-
EASTMAN, GEORGIA, THURSDAY, FEBRUARY 7, IS7S.
ing was exceptional. After an hour’s
reflection, and several drinks beyond
the hourly average, he went down and
introduced himself to Tom and Dr.
Keyes.
Keyes, with Northern caution, held
him at arm’s-length; but Mr. Sevier
was cordial and hearty with him be
yond his wont.
‘Poor old Chaplin! terrible wreck!'
he said, afterward to Fred. ‘Hum and
the war have been too much for him.
I promised to go fishing with him to
morrow morning. I thought Betty
would like some mountain-trout.'
* * * * * *
Mrs. Sevier woke the next morning
with a start and smile. Her husband
was dressed, standing by the fire.
‘What is it, Betty P
‘I thought Lou had crept on the bed
to waken me as she used to do.’
She covered her eyes with her hands
and cried quietly. Tom stroked her
hair.
‘My poor girl, you've had hard
measure in this world!’ he said.
She took her hands away, and
looked at him steadily. Had she hard
measure? In that moment, for the
first time since she had been married,
she felt how strong, how true this
man's love was; how firm a founda
tion it was for her. The searching,
wild look she fixed on him puzzled
Tom. The next moment she drew
coldly away from him.
‘lf you are going down now, I will
dress.’
But she lay quiet thinking when he
was gone. Had she not loved Louis
Chaplin ? Had she not married Se
vier in a mad whim of pique? Was
she to be persuaded tha it was for
him she really cared now ? Love was
love forever. All these years she had
looked on hers If as a woman set
apart for a conflict of mighty pas
sions. Was she to find herself only a
good wife with a good husband of the
comm n-place, happy sort?
She came out on the upper porch
presently, and looked down. Tom
was below with Colonel Cnaplin. She
never had noticed before what an
erect, clean-skinned, clear-eyed man
lie was beside other men; how true
and merry his voice was. Bali 1 it
needed othsr qualities than these to
win a woman's heart. But she did
not go to the lord.
Colonel Chaplin waited there for
her an hour or more. Sevier was a
tyrant. The poor creature was evi
dently in terror of her life. She would
never dare to come to him, as her
heart prompted, while her husband
lived.
The colonel folded his arms, and
gazed darkly into the water. To
day should be the culminating point of
his life. There was that narrow pass
in the Catalonche —a sheer descent in
to the stream of fifty feet. When he
had brought Seviei to it, he would
tell him calmly how matters stood be
tween them, and then—
They should never both leave the
pass alive. But there must be no
weapons used. Bullets tell tales. If
Sevier missed his footing, and fell into
the Devil's Grave, he was not the first
man to whom the accident had hap
pened. If it was Louis Chaplin who
was worsted, Sevier could tell what
lie he chose.
‘As well that end as the other,' blus
tered the colonel, with a portentous
sigh. But he surveyed his bulky
limba complacently. Tom Sevier was
not half the man fie was
‘Shall I take my gun, colonel ?'
called Tom, as soon as he appeared in
sight. ‘We may start a buck.'
‘No, nor even pistols; one sort of
game at a time is my motto.’
‘l'll be with you in a moment.’
He ran up the stairs to the little
porch where his wife sat looking be
yond the mountains into vacancy, her
hands, as usual, clasped on her knees.
Dr. Keyes was reading an old news
paper.
‘Good-by, Betty.'
‘Good-by/ without turning her
eyes.
It had once been a habit with him
never to leave the house without kiss
ing her. He had given it up of late
years. But he hesitated now.
‘I may not be back until night.
Don’t be uneasy, Betty.’
‘No.'
‘Good-bye,’ turning to go down the
stairs.
‘0 Tom!' said Keyes, looking up,
‘have you called at Judge Stein's
since you came ?'
‘No.’
‘Your cousin Lola is living still ?
‘Yes,' glancing quickly at bis wife.
‘Unmarried ?'
‘I believe so.’
He went hastily down the stairs.
Keyes coughed significantly, aud
turned to his paper.
‘Who is Lola Stein V asked Mrs
Sevier, sharply.
‘Lola ? Toil's cousin. Surely you
have heard of her V
Fred spoke reluctantly. She knew
by his face there was something to
conceal.
‘l've heard of her, but nothing par
ticular.’
Fred buried his face in his paper,
and did not answer.
‘How I detest the habit of giving
romantic foreign names to our wo
men !’ said Mrs. Sevier, tartly. ‘They
called me Elise when 1 was a girl.
Absurd! This Lola, I suppose, is
some ungainly creature in gaudy cal
ico, who rubs snuff, and*drives the
steer and wagon when she makes vis
its.’ •
‘Not precisely. By George I there
she is!'
Mrs. Sevier bent eager 1 } 7 forward.
A delicate little figure on hoiseback
was just below the porch. The horse
was a spirited one. She managed it
with easy grace. As she turned her
head Mrs. Sevier caught sight of a
dimpled mouth, an oval face warmed
with a peachy bloom, ands >ft, blue
eyes.
‘How old is she ?'
‘About thirty, I suspect.’
* ‘She—she has worn well,' her hands
going up involuntarily to her own thin
cheek.
There was silence for several min
utes.
‘Dr. Keyes/ (in more irritable
tones), ‘why did that new-found rela
tion of mine never marry V
Fred’s embarrassment was appa
rent.
‘I don't know, cousin Betty. She
has bad plenty of lovers, I hear.
There was an old story which my
mother told me years ago, of her at
tachment to a man who was in every
way worthy of her, but who suddenly
changed his mind, and married anoth
er woman.'
‘Was—did this man love Lola
Stein ?’
Fred changed color, and turned his
newspaper nervously.
‘lt was said that he did. But why
should he marry another woman ?
Moreover, his wife has, no doubt,
driven poor Lola out of his head and
heart by this time.’
Mrs. Sevier sat motionless a mo
ment, then she rose and went hastily
to her own room. Keyes looked after
her with a queer smile, threw his old
paper down, and went out to amuse
himself. He had finished his day’s
work.
Mrs. Sevier was standing before the
glass. She saw in it a fair, cheerful
face beside the skinny one. Why did
he marry her ? Because when she
quarreled with Louis she had almost
flung herself into his arms, thinking
she made him happy for life. He had
loved another woman 1 He had mar
ried her only out of a chivalric sense
of honor. All these years in which
she might have won him she had neld
him aloof, wrapping herself in a fe
verish passion for—o God ! for what ?
Wliat brutal creature was it that she
had set up in her husband's place?
An hour later Mrs. Sevier put on
her hat and the prettiest dress she
had, and went to call on this new
cousin She came back looking more
ghastly, walking quickly, as it urged
on some matter of life and death.
Lola had proved to be the most gen
tle, merry, winning woman she had
ever known. She told Fred this with
a speechless terrror in her eyes that
made him almost pity her. No man
who had loved such a woman, she
said, could ever forge t her. Where
was Tom ? Only an hour since he
went fishing. It seemed like days
‘Order them lo saddle the horses'
(imperiously). ‘We will follow them.’
‘To Catalonche V
‘Wherever he is, I must see him. I
have lost Lou; I have lost everything.
I must see him. If there is any
chance—' She went heavily to her
room, muttering to herself.
‘My medicine will kill or cure/ said
Dr. Fred, as he went to the stables.
******
About noon the two fishermen came
to the bluff which overlooked the
Devil's Grave. The colonel had not
spoken for two or three miles. He
drank repeatedly from his pocket
flask, and chewed the end of an un
lighted cigar.
‘That's a nasty bit of road/ said
Tom, looking up at the pass. ‘Let’s
try the laurel.’
‘When I want my game, I don't
turn back for a rough climb. Are you
afraid V blustered the colonel.
‘Oh, no,’ said Tom, carelessly. I'll
keep with you, of course.’
They reached the pass —a ledge of
rock on the edge of a precipice not
two feet wide
‘l have a word to say to you, Se
vier.'
The c done], who was ahead, turned
and faced the smaller man.
‘Not here, Chaplin, laughed Tom; I
am absurdly dizzy.'
‘Yes, here and now—dam nation!'
‘Wliat'sthe matter ?' (staringabout
him). ‘Hello! There is Keyes. And
Betty!' He was delighted as a bay.
When he had descended the hill his
wife was wating alone. Keyes had
prudently lingered to pull rhododen
drons
‘Wliat is it ? Have you been ill
Betty? She was leaning down from
her horse, her hands on his shoulders,
her eyes on his with an agony of en
treaty, of love such as he had never
seen there before.
‘O Tom! I thought I had lost you.'
He lifted her down, and placed her
on a gray rock by the path. lie did
not laugh at her. There was some
thing here more than nervous folly—
something, he thought, which he had
been waiting for for years. He had
despaired that it would ever come to
him.
‘Tom, do you care for me at all ?
Won‘t you try to love me a little?
No matter how inferior I am to—to
other women. I have nothing but
you —nothing!‘ she sobbed, humbled
and terrified at last into her real self.
Dr. Keyes saw 7 very little of his
friends that day. The next morning
Mrs. Sevier met Jhim on the grassy
village-street. She was leaning on
her husband‘s arm, Her check was
flushed, and her eyes brilliant.
‘We leave in an hour, doctor/ she
said, a little quaver of triumph in her
tone. ‘I always had a prejudice
against this village, and Mr. Sevier is
quite willing to indulge me in my
whims/
‘I am ready to go at any time.
Colonel Chaplin, too, found the fish
ing poor and game scarce, and left
last night. He asked me to tender
his adieus and best wishes. 4
Mrs. Sevier bowed.
‘I knew L mis Chaplin very well
once/ she said, frankly; ‘but I found
it hard to recognize him in this po( r,
degraded creature. There are the
horses. I want to feel that w.e are
actually on the road —to /tome, Tom/
she added, in a happy whisper, cling
ing to his arm.
******
‘I have struck the key-note at las’,
Fred/ said Sevier, when they drove
off, his face glowing. But I cm‘t ex
plain. Nobody can understand such
matters between a husband and wife
you know/
‘No/ said Dr Keyes, and lighted his
c : gar.
A little fellow, four years old, the
other day nonplused his mother by
making the following inquiry: ‘Moth
er, if a man is a mister, ain't a woman
a mystery ?' 4
‘Pa, has the world got a tail V
asked an urchin of his father. ‘No,
child. I low could it have cue when
it is round?' ‘Well, persisted the
heir, ‘why do the papers say, ‘So wags
the world,’ if it ain't got a tail to wag
about?'
A tall Western girl named Short,
long loved a certain big Mr. Little;
while Little, little thinking of Short,
loved a little lass named Long. To
make a long story short, Little pro
posed to Long, and Short longed to be
even with Little's shortcoua igs. So
Short, meeting Long, threatened to
marry Little before long, which caused
Little in a short time to many L mg.
Query. Did tall Short love big Little
leas, because Little loved Long ?
A gentleman relates, after leaving
the paper of which he was the editor,
and returning on a visit, he wrote a
leader for the new editor and lie real
ly thought it good—better than ho
had written for months. Next day he
met an old acquaintance with a paper
in his hand. ‘„\h,‘ said he, ‘this paper
is but a miserable thing now—nothing
like what it was when you had it!'—
and pointing to the article he had
written, he continued—‘L >ok, for in
stance, at that thing! Why didn’t
that f >ol let you write the article?*
There is a story of a traveler who,
wishing to reach Barnet, had somehow
got turned round, and was trotting
along very composedly in the oppo
site direction from the right one to
that town. Meeting a farmer in the
road, he drew up, and asked, ‘llow
far is it to Barnet, if I keep stra ght
on V 1 Well,' said the farmer, with a
twinkle in his intelligent eye, ‘if ye
keep straight on the way ye are going
row, it's about twenty-five thousand
miles; hut if ye turn l ight round, and
go t’other way, it’s about half a mile.
A Yankee artist, who excells as an
animal painter, sw as he was passing
through one ot the rural towns of
Massachusetts, a very anim deddcok
ing bull. Thinking he would like to
take trim on canvass, he got permis
sion of the owner, an honest old farm
er, and in due time produced an ex
cellent likeness of the bull, which he
sold for two hundred dollars. On see
ing the fanner soon after, lie told him
he had sold the picture of his bull for
two hundred dollirs. 'Goodness gra
cious !' said the] old man; why I
would have sold the Jbull itself for
less than that V
John Wesley, the founder of Meth
odism, having to travel some distance
in a stage-coach, l ell in with a pleas
aut-tempi red, well-informed officer.—
II:s conversation was sprightly and
entertaining, but frequently mingled
with oaths. When they were about
to take the last stage. Mr. Wesley
took the officer apart, and after ex
pressing the pleasure he h and enjoyed
hi his company, told him he was
thereby encouraged to ask of him a
very great favor.
T would take a pleasure in obliging
you/ said the offic r,‘ ‘and I am sure
you will not make an unreasonable re
quest/
‘Then, said Mr. Wesley, ‘as we have
to travel together some time, I beg
that if I sh mid so far forget myself as
to swear, you will kindly remove me!
Tne officer siw the m >tive, felt the
force of the request, and with a smile
thanked Nir. Wesley.
no. .