Georgia Historic Newspapers

    The Newnan Herald.
PUBLISHED EVERY TUESDAY.
A. B. CATES, Editor and Publisher.
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VOLUME XX.
NEWNAN, GEORGIA, TUESDAY, OCTOBER 13, 1885.
N UMBER 52.
The Newnan Herald.
PUBLISHED EVERY TUESDAY*
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“LITTLE MRS. HAYNES.”
liY MARGARET VERNE.
I. .
It was an eventful era in my
young life when my father announc
ed his intention of renting the
light, airy, southern chamber of
our old brown house to a young por
trait-painter who was about becom
ing a resident in our .village dur
ing a few weeks of summer. Never
before had an event so stirring and
ekeiting in its tendency broken
bVer the monbtony of my existence
Never before had my childish imag
ination been furnished with so wide
a field of action, or my little heart
throbbed and palpitated with sucl
a strange mixture of wonder and
delight. A portrait painter undei
.ourown brown roof, within the wall,
of my own home—what, a ran
chjncefortny inquisitive eyes t<
draw in a new fund of knowledge!
What an object of envy I should h(
to my little mates, and how daintily
would I mete out to them what I
learned from day to day of the won
drous man of the woi drous employ
ment !
I had heard of portrait painter.^
before, it is true, lull only as I had
heard and read of fairies jn my lit
tle story-hook, or listened to my fa
thbr ch he talked of kings and
•(.niirtiers in the great world afar off.
Upon our parlor walls from my ear
liest remembrance had. hung por
traits of my grandfathers and grand
mothers, but I had no idea how
their faces came stamped upon the
dark canvas, or when or by whom
their shadows had been fixed with
in the heavy gilt frames. Like the
trees that waved by the door, and
the lilacs that blossomed every
.year by the old gale, they had to
hie always beet! so.
But now my eyes were to rest up
on .the face of one whose existence
had been like a myth, a fable!
What n wonderful personage he
would he! What a dark visage lie
would boast, and what a monstrous,
giant-like form! How entirely un
like every person that 1 had ever
preu or k»own would be this por-
trnit painter!
_ While these speculations wore at
Iheir height in my busy brain, the
hero made his appearance, scatter
ing them mercilessly to the four
winds. There was nothing giant
like in the lithe, graceful figure that
sprang from the village coach, or
dark in the pleasant, boyish face,
lit up by a merry pair of blut
e-yes, running over with mirth and
iliischief. His name, too, quite liki t
tbe generality of names, had noth
ing wonderful or striking by which
to characterize it. He was simply
Frank Haynes, nothing more or
less, and when, with a pleasant,
easy grace, he sought to win my
childish favor, I should have been
quite at home had not the stunning
knowledge of his art overpowered
me. It was a strange freak for a
child of 10 summers, but somehow
It crept into my baby brain that 1
tnust net like him, although tin-
while, in spite of myself, a prefer
ence for his opinions, ways' and
looks grew up strong within me. It
he spoke to the when any ODe was
observing him I was silent and
shrunk away from him timidly, but
when we were alone I chatted and
chirruped like a young robin. I
think he must have noticed this,
and from it taken into his head the
•boyish idea of teasing me.
To him, lie said, I was little Phebe
Lester no longer, now that lie knew
how much I cared for him. For thi
future he should call me Mrs. Hay
nes—little M rs. Haynes—and should
he very angry if everybody in the
house did not follow nis example. 1
must not even have any little beaux
among th» schoolboys now that my
name was changed; but I must be
prim and proper, like any married
wom&n who was faithful to her hus
band. „
“Would I agree to this?” he ask
ed.
I glanced up from the hern of my
white muslin apron, which l had
been twisting about my fingers, to
leet my mother’s eye fixed laugh
ingly upon my face. In a moment
’lips closed resolutely, while he,
seeing at once the cause of my si
lence. reached out of the window
«l i . a rose from a running
11... t crept nearly to the mossy
rtVls.
“Little Mrs. Haynes must wear
the rose,” he said. It would never
Sdo tor her to toss her head and
[throw his gifts carelessly by. All
! married women wore flowers which
their husbands gave them. Would
I wear the rose ?”
I glanced about the room again.
My mother was nowhere to be seen,
and so I said that I would wear it,
if he wanted me to.
“And would I consent to be called
little Mrs. Haynes?”
“Yes, I would consent.”
never look about for a wife, not
should I ever lack about for a hus
band. We were Mr. and Mrs. Hay
nes. Did that suit me!”
“Oh, yes, that suited me! I like
that!”
“Well, then, he should have to
buy me a little gold ring to wear
upon my third finger to let folks
know some one owned me.”
“No, I didn’t like rings.”
“Wouldn’t I like a ring that he
would buy?"
“No—I wouldn’t like a ring ai
any rate.”
During his stay, which was pro
tracted to months instead of weeks
he strove in every way to change
my determination about the en
gagement ring as he termed it. I
was inexorable. A ring I would not
wear. Not even when he made
ready for his departure, and told
me that in a few weeks he should
be thousands of miles away from
me, nor when he piled up befnn
•no pictures that he had drawn ai
lis leisure,during the long summet
miirs that hung heavily upon hi-
■ ands, would I revoke my decision
i would take the finely executed
drawings, the prettily framed por
trait of hi mscli, but I would havt
no ring*.
At last he went away from us. I
shall never forget the morning, or
how cold, dull and cheerless it seem
ed to me. How dreary and desolate
everything looked because he was
roiiig away. It was no everyday
grief that bore down upon my
young heart, no childish promise
Unit assured him as he kissed my
quivering lips, that I would never
forget him, and that I would always
>e his little Mrs. Ilaynfes.
•‘Would 1 write to him and sign
rhat name?”
“Yes, I would.”
“I was a good girl then, and he
would never forget me. Good-by!”
“Good-by?” My voice trembled
and fluttered upon the word. In my
shortlife they were, the hardest I
had found to speak.
During the nexi two years no la
dy love could have been more faith
ful to her absent knight than I was
to Frank Haynes. The brightest
moments of iny life circled about
the’reception of his letters, the
greatest joy of life was in answering
them. Among my schoolmates I
had no childish love, no juveniles to
wait ujion me to sleigh-rides and
parties that the children in the
neighborhood delighted in. If !
could not go and come alone I would
remain at home, whatever might be
the ^inducements offered to tempi
me from my unswerving course. I
was little Mrs. Haynes, and little
Mrs. Haynes I was bent on remain
ing.
But while I was in the very midsl
of my heroic devotion a terrible ru
mor reached my ears, a rumor that
Frank Haynes, my self-appointed
lord and master, was engaged to a
young and beautiful lady in the
city. It was a dreadful blow to mj
precocious hopes and plans, though
for a long while I battled against
crediting the report. Hadn’t Frail!
told me he would never look aleou
for a wife ? That I was the only lit
tie lady who should bear his name?
Didn!t he write me regularly ever>
fortnight, commencing his letters,
■‘Dear little Mrs. Haynes,” and tell
ing me to be faithful to him ? And
—and—would he do this if he were
engaged ? No, not a bit of it! Some
one had maliciously lied about him.
had manufactured the story from
their own wicked imagination. 1
would not believe it though tin
whole world stood up before me
and testified to its truth.
As if to reward me for my faith,
and set mv prejudiced little mind
to rights, the next coach sat Frank
down at our door. He thought ht
must come and see his little wife
once more, he said, as l went timid
ly forward to meet him, though he
thought it very bad taste in me to
grow at sueli a rapid rate. He was
afraid I’d grow out of my engage
ment ; he should have to put a loal
of hot bread on my head to keep me
within bounds. We had been en
gaged two years; I was 12 years old
and a head taller than I was at 10.
He was going to Europe to stay
three or four years; what would I
be when he returned? He did not
dare to think. He believed I
would be as tall as he by that time.
Wouldn’t I?
“I h >ped so,” 1 answered, tartly,
thinking the while of the story of
his engagement.
“Whew! You are taking on the
airs of a fine young lady already,
my little Phebe,” he answered,
laughing heartily. “You wouldn’t
give me one of your brown curls
to-day, if my heart should break for
it, would you?”
“No, I have none to spare.”
“Not one?”
“No, not one.”
“Why ?”
“Cause
“Cause what?”
“Because she has heard strange
reports of you, Frank,” broke in my
mother, mischievously. “She
hasn’t any idea of letting you rob
your sincere alegiance to her. Sl>e
is a lady of spirit, you see.”
On my faith, she is!” he exclaim
ed, gayly, fixing his blue eyes upon
my face. And I trow I’ia in love
with her for it. Never mind reports,
my little lady.”
I answerd only by a curl of my
lips, while he reached out his hand
to draw me to a seat upon Iris knee.
“No, I won’t sit there!” I cried,
pushing away his hand, while the
tears, which had been crowding
their wfly into my eyes, gave a.sud
den dash down my burning cheeks.
“I’ll never sit there again, never!”
“My dear little Phebe!”
There was a real pathos in his
rich manly voice, a quick, penetrat
ing surprised look in his clear,
blue eyes, as he uttered these words)
followed by a rapid, wondering
expression of tenderness, as he re
peated them.
“My dear little Phebe! May God
•less you"’
I stole quietly away from him out
•f the house, with that fervent ben-
•dh-tion lying fresh and deep upon
ny childish heart, and threw my-
•elf down in the shade of the old
•rchard trees and sobbed out the
heaviness that passed upon my
spirits. For hours I lay therein the
mellow September sunshine,
trooding over the little romance
ihat had so silently and strangely
grown into the woof of my almost
baby life. I wept before my time for
the delicious griefs that forever
cling to a sweet and conscious
womanhood.
When I returned to the house
Frank had taken his leave, but in
ny little work-basket he left a
mall pearl box, which contained a
plain gold ring! Did I wear it! Are
you a woman, reader, and ask it!'
• it.
“Phebe, I hebe! mother says come
lown stairs! There is a gentleman
n the parlor who wishes to see you.”
The words broke harshly into my
pleasant dre m* which I ha l be ii
weaving all the long, golden July
afternoin, in the unbroken stillness
>f my little chamber. At my feet,
ipon the carpet, with its leav«s
rumpled and crushed, lay my neg
lected Virgil in close proximity to
i huge Latin dictionary, while upon
ny lap, in a wrinkled condition, •■ y
sewing was lying, with a needle
banging by a long line of thread,
icarly to t he floor, as it escaped
luckily from a rouud of inonoto*
nous h mining, which as yet boast-
si hut two or three stitches at its
•onimencement.
“Who can it he that wishes to see
me?” I exclaim d, rising hastily
ind calling after my 6-year-old
brother. “Who is it, Charlie?”
“Don’t knbw; it’s somebody.
Mothersays come down.”
“Who can it be?” An hour since I
. lad seen a gentleman with a heavy
learded face come up the walk, but
T was too busy with my dreams to
iotice him very particularly. Still
is I recalled his face and figure, and
lis quick springing step, there seem-
d something strangely familiar in
nem. Who could it be? My heart
•eat rapidly. Surely I had seen
lat face and form before, aud a
.atne that was singularly dear to
oe trembled upon my lips—“Frank
Haynes!”
But I could not go down to meet
dm, though I was summoned a
thousand times. I did not wish to
-ee him; why should I? The<e was
io occasion for it. 1 was not the
foolish little girl of 12 summers
whom he had left five years ago in
short frocks and curls, tut a full
;rown woman instead. No, I was
lot the same. I would not go
lown. Besides, a sudden liea ache
.vas nearly blinding me. Mother
! walk below. I did not glance ea-
1 gerly from the window, or peer
carefully from the half closed shut
ters, but clasped my hands tightly
over my yes till the sound of
footsteps died away in the distance,
then 1 crept stealthily down-stairs
and stepped softly into the silent
parlor, where so lately he had been.
I was half way across the room be
fore I noticed that I was not alone,
and then before I could make hasty
retreat, a glad, merry voice, rich
with its golden music, exclaimed:
“My own dear little Mrs. Haynes,
as I live! How happy I am to see
you!” and a hand clasped mine
tightly, while a pair of bearded lip?
were bent down to mine. I drew
my head back haughtily. I was a
little child no longer. I would not
accept, even from him, the caress
es that he had bestowed upon me
five years before.
“Ah, Mr. Haynes,” I said, bow
ing in a dignified way, “I am
pleased to see vou:”
My manner chilled at once .his
warm genial nature. Stepping
backward from me and releasing
my hand he said, with a curl of his
finely cut lips: “Your pardon, Miss
Lester; I had quite forgotton that
you had grown to be a fine lady!”
I bowed him back a reply, flash
ing a quick, impetuous glance upon
him as I did so. But there was no
pleasantry attempted on his part,
and when my mother entered the
room a few moments after and re
ferred; laughingly, to our old en
gagement, he answered her in few
evasive words, as though the sub
ject was not an agreeable one to
him.
Affairs had taken an unhappy
turn, hut it was too late to remedy
them, and day after day passed
away, leaving Mr. Haynes as cold
and distant as he had been from
the moment I first repulsed him.
I would have given worlds to have
recalled irty unlucky words; yet
since they were spoken, I would
not unbend a moment from my
calm, cold dignity, though I was as
miserable and wretched as I could
well be, and knew that Mr. Haynes
stiared my wretchedness.
All the lime that I could spend in
my chamber without being abso
lutely rude was passed there till my
strange, unusual appearance was no
ticed by my father and mother, and
ray mood commented freely upon
before our guest-.
‘You appear so strange, Phebe,’>
said my mother one morning, “I
r eally do not know how to under
stand you. I’m afraid that Mr.
Haynes will think you are not pleas
ed to see him. Every chance that
occurs you resolutely avoid him
as though he were the veriest mon
ster, Instead of a dear friend.
What is the matter?”
“Nothing. The strangeness of my
appearance is hut a reflection. I
annot help it. Mr. Haynes hates,
and despises me now.” I said, bury-
ibg my tearful eyes in my hands.
“Phebe!”
My mother’s voice was stern and
reproachful, but I did not heed
it.
“He does hate me, mother! hates
me with a ”
“Your pardon, little Phebe—Miss
Lesjer—but he does not!” broke in
the clear, rich voice of Mr. Haynes.
•‘Of all persons in the world ’’
He paused, and in a moment more
I heard my mother step lightly
from the room.
lam not cold, haughty, and proud, - ’
1 said, excitedly, looking up into
his face, and I do like you just as
well—as well—”
“What, little Phebe?” he asked
eagerly, a quick expression of joy
THE BOTTOM LESS JUM
jould not ask it of me when I was ,
.ardlv able to sit up. But what | li f? htin g U P his hlue eyes,
would he thbik? would he care?: “As well as ever I did!” I faltered.
Would he still remember the little ! “And-how well is that? So well
Mrs. Haynes of five years ago? ' that during all these weary years
Little! 1 repea ed the word as 11 y° H have not cherish*! a dream of
stood before the long mirror, which j l ^ e future that did not encircle me!
gave back tc mean accurate pi t -j So well that every strong, passion-
cure of myself. A slender passable
form; a dark clear complexion;
large, gray eyes; a mouth whose
redness seemed to have robbed my
cheeks ol their color; white teeth’
a forehead broad but not high;
large, heavy braids of chestnut-
brown hair, was the likeness fram
ed before my eyes. I turned away
“Then it was all right. He would* her of her curls while she doubts
ate hope of yrfur womanly nature
has reached out constantly to me!
As-well as I have liked, aye loved
you—till every pulse of your heart
beats for me! As well as this,
Phebe?”
I covered my face that he might
not read the whole expression of
my love in my telltale eyes, and be
with a sigh, and glanced down to j shocked that it had grown to be so
tny hand. Upon the third finger of i near a wild, passionate idolatry,
the left was a plain gold circlet. The j “Will you become Mrs. Haynes in
hot blood rushed up into ray cheeks • truth t in earnest, Phebe!” he asked,
as I looked at it I would wear it j drawing me to my old seat upon
no longer. He should never know ; his knee,
that I had worn it at all. Just then ! “Yes.”
my brother came again to the door j ttAnd wffl at , ast wear the rin „
ol my room, crying out a new mes- ;
sa g e I held up my finger before his eyes.
“Mother says little Mrs. Haynes
is wanted down stairs.”
“I have a terrible headache, < 'har-
lie. Please tell mother so,” and I
sank down upon a chair close by
the window, and leaned my head
upon a chair.
“Dear, dear! if they wool.! bat for
get me!” I murmured to myself, as
the ham of their conversation came
clearly to my ears. An hour pass
ed away and I hear a sound of
voices in the hall, then steps in the
“My own darling iittle wife: at
last my little Mis. Haynes, in good
faith!” he exclaimed, covering my
lips with kisses.
That night there were sly looks
and glances cast toward me at every
turn,and at the sopper-table my fath
er quite forgot himself, and called
me “little Mrs. Haynes” again.
Reader, I have been a happy wife
for some three blessed, sunshiny
years, and as you may have already
conjectured, “my name is Haynes!”
I saw it hanging up in the kitch
en of a thrifty, healthy, sturdy farm
er in Oxford county, Maine—a bot
tomless jug! The host saw that th*
curious thing caught my eye and
smiled.
“You are wondering what that jup
is hanging up there for with its bot
tom knocked out,” lie said:’ “My
wife, perhaps, can tell you the story
better than I can; but she is bashful
and I ain’t, so I’ll tell it.”
“My father, as you are probably
aware, owned this farm before me
He lived to a good old age, worked
hard all his life, never squander! d
money, was a cautious trader, and
a good calculator; and, as men-were
accounted in his day and genera
tion, he was a temperate man. I
was the youngest boy; and when
the old man was ready to go—an/d
he knew it--the others agreed that
since I had stayed at home and tak
en care of the old folks, the farm
should be mine. And to roe it was
willed. I had been married then
three years.
“Well, father died—mother had
gone three years before—and left
the farm to me, with a mortgage on
it for two thousand dollars. I’d nev
er thought of it before. I said to
Mollie, my wife:
“‘Mollie, look here. Here fath
er’s had this farm in its first strength
of soil, with all its magnificent tim
ber, and his six boys, as they grew
up, equal to so many men to help
him; arid he worked hard, worked
early and late) add yet look at it!
A mortgage of twd thousand dollarsj
What can I do?’
“And I went to that jug—it had a
bottom to it then—and took a good
stiff drink of old Medford rum Iron,
it.
“I noticed a curious look on the
face of my wife, just then, and I ask
ed her what,she thought of it, for 1
supposed she was thinking of whai
I’*l been talking about. And so she-
was, for she said:
“ ‘Charles, I’ve thought of this a
great deal, and I’ve thought of a
•way in which I believe I can clear
this mortgage off before five years
are ended.’
“Says I:
“ ‘Mollie, tell me how you’ll do it.’
“She thought for a while, and
then said, with a funny twinkling
in her blue eyes—says she:
“ ‘Charlie, you must promise me
this, and promise me solemnly
and sacredly: Promise me that you
wilt never bring home for the pur
pose of drinking for a beverage, at
any time any more spirits than you
can bring in that old jug—the jug
your father has used ever since I
knew him, and which you have used
ever since he was done with it,’
‘ Well, I knew father used once in
a while, especially in haying time,
and in winter when we were at
work in the woods, to get an old gal
lon jug filled; so I thought that she
meant that I should never buy
more than two quarts at a time, I
thought it over, and after a little
while told her that I would agree
to it.
“ ‘Now mind,’ said she ‘you are
never to bring home any more spir
its than you can bring in that iden
tical jug.’ And I gave her the
promise.
“And before I went to bed that
night I took the last pull at that jug.
As I was turning out for a sort of
nightcap, Mollie looked up, and says
she: ‘Charlie, have you got a drop
left?’
“There was just about a drop left.
We’d have to get it filled on the
morrow. Then she said, if I had no
objections, she would drink that
last drop with me. 1 shall never
forget how she said it, “that last
drop!’ However, I tipped the old
jug bottom up, and got about a great
spoonful, and Mollie said that was
enough. She took the tumbler and
poured a few drops of hot water in
to it, and a bit of sugar, and then :
Arnall Bros & Co.
Is the place to find the prettiest and largest line of
DRY GOODS, FANI7 G30DS,
NOTIONS, HOSIERY,
Clothing, Hats and Shoes*
ALSO A COMPLETE STOCK OF
Family Groceries
THEY ALSO SUPPLY FARMERS AND GINNKRsVlTH
BAGGING AND TIES.
EVER BEFORE, thus being enabled to offer
Bargains in all Kinds of Goods.
A visit to otir store, an examination of our goods and an inquiry
of our prices is all that isnecessarv to convince yon that ours is
THE GREAT BARGAIN STORE
ARNALL BRO’S & CO., Newnan, Ga.
“Well, 1 gut up the next m. r ing
ind did my work al the 1mre, tin n
■ ime in and ate my breakfast, but
o» with such an appclite as a farni-
r i light Io have, and I could noi !
link then that my appetite hail la-
uii to fail. However, I ate break
tst,smd then went out and hile!n*t j
,;> the old mare; for to tell tin !
rulh, I was feeling the need of : j
lass of spirits, and I hadn’t a .drop j
ii the house. I was in a hurry to i
ret to the village, I hitched up aud I
•ante in for the jug. I went for it j
n tiie old cupboard and took it out, j
ind—
“nid you ever break through the ;
hin ice on a snapping cold day, and
ind yourself in an instant, over I
vonr head in freezing water? Be
cause that is the way I felt at that
moment. The-jtig was there but the!
bottom was gone. M-dlie had tak
en a sharp chisel and a hammer,
ank with a skill that- might have j
done credit to a master workman,. [j av j n g -watched for on/ chance and been very careful in- the pu -
she had clipped the bottom clean • •
out of the jug, with, *ut even crack ing chase of our stock, we have BOUtiH 1 ! OIIEAI EL TUAE
the edges of .lie sides. I looked at
the jug, and then she burst out. She
spoke, oh, I h d never heard any
th ng like it! No, nor have 1 heard
anyth ng like it since. She said:
“Charh s,that’s where the m«rt-
gage on this firm cam * from! Lt
was brought mine in that jug—two
quarts at a time! And there’s where
your white,'clean skin, and your
clear pretty eyes -r.g.ing. And in
the jug, my 1 usband. your aap -life
is going also. Oh, let it he n it is,
dear heart! anti remember your
promised”
“And then, she threw i.er arms
around iriv neck, i i I curst into
tears.. She c >.i. s c..k u« mote.
• a nil . was no need. My eyes
wereoj.tii.il as though by magic.
In a single minute the whole sc no
passed before me. I saw all the
mortgages t n all the farms in our
aeighborhood; and I thought where
■ he money had gone. The very
ast mortgage father h d ever made
•vas to pay a bill held against him
by the man who had filled this jug
for years! Yes, I saw it as it passed
before me—a flittering picture ol
rum! rum! rum!—debt! debt! debt!
indintheeud death! And I re
turned my Mollie’s kiss and said I:
“Mollie, my own, I’ll keep the
promise! I will, so helji me heav
en !
“And I have kept it. In 1 ss than
live years, as Molli e had
said, the mortgage was cleared off;
my appetite came back to me; and
now we’ve got a few thousa d dol
lars at interest. There hangs the
old jug--just as we hung it on
that day; and from that time there
hasn’t been a drop of spirit brought
into the house for a beverage, which
that bottomless jug wouldn’t hold.
“Dear old jug! We mean to keep
it and hand it down to our children
for the lesson it can give them—a
lesson of life—of a life happy, peace
ful, prosperousjmd blessed!”
. And as he ceased speaking, his
wife, with her arm drawn tenderly
iir.iiad the neck of her youngest
boy, mur.i.ured a ferve- t amen.
Confused.
It is a pathetic sight to watch the
•neanderings of the childish mind
through the intricacies of English
grammar. Little Jane had- repeat
edly been reproved for doing vio
lence to the moods and tenses of
the verb “to be.” She would say “I
be,” instead of “I am,” and for a
lime it seemed as if no one could
prevent it. Finally, Aunt Kate
made a rule not to answer an in
correct question, but to wait until
it was corrected.
One day, the two sat together -
Annt Kate busy with embroidery; j w g Winterg
and little Jane over her doll. Pres-!
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Big Stock and Low Prices.
PARLOR AND CHURCH ORGANS.
WOOD and METALLIC. BURIAL CASES
^^■Orders attended to at any hour day or night,, mft
< e P ,R - 'y THOMPSON BROS., Newnan, Ga.
NOTICE
-TO-
FARMERS!
IF YOU WANT TO PURCHASE A
Cotton Seed Oil Mill 1
A Cot-
A Cotton Gin, A Cotton Feeder, A Condenser,
ton Press, or a
W AW MILL,
Pulleys, Shafting’s,
Hangers and Millwork,
Write to ns for prices and discounts. We can make
it to yonr interest to buy direct from ns.
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Manufacturers, Atlanta, Ga.
Notice to the Trade-We give discounts to the trade.
May 17.
ESTABLISHED 1873.
G. Wi Nelson.
ently doll society became tedious-
and the child’s attention was at
tracted to the embroidery frame.
“Aunt Kate.” said she, “ please
she tinkled her glass against mine, tell me what that is going to be ?”
just as she’d seen ns boys do, when But Aunt Kate was counting, and
we’d been drinking to good luck : did not answer. Fatal word, he!
and says she: ‘Here’s to the old ! It was her old enemy, and i
brown jug.” i alone could the child ascribe .. c
“Sakes alive! I thought to my-' silence that followed,
self, that poor Mollie had been! “AuntKate,” she per-;.,ted, with
drinking more of the rum than wasjan honest attempt i>. correct her
good for her, and I tell you it kind j mistake, “ pleas- i. .1 me what that
of cut me to the heart. I forgot all! is going to an :
about how many times she’d seen j Still auntie sa’ .-.ilently counting
ine whe^i my tongue was thicker J though her lip curled with amuse-
than it ought to be, and my legs not' ment.
so steady as good legs ought to be; Jane sighed, but m • !e another
but I said nothing I drank the sen- patient effort.
liment—“The old brown jug’—and “Will you please tel: u <• what
let it go. : that is going to are?”
“Well, I went out after tnat, and Aunt Kate counted on, j- -rh.ij*- by
didmychores,and then wenttobed;! this time actuated by a wicked -i -
and the last thing I said before leav-! -ire to know what would come h. x
WintersANDNelson
-DEALERS IN-
-A N D-
(A)
JVIu^idal JVtercljkijdi^e
The little girl gathered her energit -
for one last and jreat e!f 11.
“Aunt Kate, what am !!iat g>i i g
to are?”
Mr. John B. Gojigh cheerfully
ing the kitchen—(his very room
where we now sit, was:
“We’ll have the old brown jug
filled to-morrow.’
“And then I went off to bed. And
I have remembered ever since that
I went to bed that night, as I had i bears testimony: Intemperance is
done hundreds of times before, with nothing like so bad now as it was
-Or EVERY DESU
TON.
a buzzing in my head that a healthy
man ough* not to have. I didn’t
think of it then, nor had I ever
thought of it before, but I’ve thought
of it- many times since, and have
thought of it with wonder and awe.
when I was a boy, and things are
going to be a great deal better yet.
ft is gntifying to hear of reforma
tion and the hope oi furl her immove
ment from one so well qualified to i
judge of the public last--.
Tnken in Exchange for new Ones.
CHAT i ANOOGA, TENN.