Newspaper Page Text
VOL. XIV.
EVERY YEAR.
Life is a count of losses ever year;
Men get euchred “tradin’ hosses*'—every
year;
Lost springs with 9obs replying,
Hot epriugs with lovers singing,
Are to nervous systems trying—every year.
The days have less of gladness— every year;
People strike more cussed badness every
year;
Church fairs no longer charm us,
‘‘Tanglefoot’’ begins to harm us,
Social lies perhaps alarm us—every year.
We see fewer fair dream faces—every year:
Fools bet higher on two aces—every year ;
Ah, the merry little mashes,
And the heatt some maiden smashes
Sleep in sackcloth and a hes—every year.
Ah, how sad to look before us—every year;
And see fools come ia to bore us—every
year;
See our locks becoming whiter.
And our bald head growing brighter.
And our purse, too, getting lighter—ever}'
year.
ONLY A YEAR AGO.
“But you have known me so short a
time—only six weeks—how is it possi
ble that you can love me?"
“How is it possible? Rather ask how
it is possible to avoid loving you? And
besides, is it re all v so very incompre
hensible, Avis? You have* known me
just the same length of time, and yet—
vet—l have ventured to hope that you
—that you love me, dear. Oh, Avis, is
the sweet hope false? Have I deceived
myself? Or will you indeed confirm it
by promising to be, some happy day.
luy wife?"
He would have caught and clasped
the fair girl in his arms, but she, keep
ing him back by a gesture of her little
band, while her great dark eyes were
fixed with beseeching earnestness upon
his face, answered:
“It is not what I wish or even what
vou wish -that must be thought of. Mr.
Itoy, but. your mother—your mother,
who has been like a mother to me also,
o good, so generous. What would she
say—
A voice, tremulous, yet stern, inter
rupted her—a voice that made them
start and turn in confusion.
“She would say that you are right
in rcmemlicring her. Avis, and that she
is glad of this proof of your gratitude;
for the rest, Roy Living-tone’s mother
looks fai t her than her own family cir
cle, and higher than to a poor depend
ent, however good or fair, when she
seeks a bride for hyr only son and a fu
ture mistress for the The Laurels.
Leave us. Avis. Ido not blame you,
child; forget this folly, it has been no
fault of yours. I will speak to you fur*
thor presently—wait in my ro in.
“And so," she went on, turning to
her son, when Avis, silently weeping,
had left them—“ami so this is the re
sult o your artist lolly. You would
paint my pretty companion s picture,
forsooth, and while so doing have
stole 11 her heart and lust your owu. I
might, have looked for this; I should
have been more careful. But do you
hope that 1 shall tolerate such folly ? I
overheard you ask the girl, just now,
to be your wife.’ 1
“You did." The young man an
swered gently, but with a resolution
that was unmistakable. “I love her,
and will marry her."
“Without my consent? Without your
mother’s blessing? Is this the affec
tion —the duty ol my own child?"
Ho put hi* arms around her.
“I shall never set you at defiance,
mother, and least of all for Avis’s .sake.
She is too good, too ardently attached
to you to do aught that could wound
you. But uill you not have compas
sion for us, also, mother? Wo love.
Avis has been to you as a daughter al
ways; let it be mine to make her so. in
deed. Where could you ever find a
child bo truly yours w hoso heart and
soul you know whose mind is of your
own pure training? 1 love her with a
love'that will not change. I’files* you
give mo Avis for a wife. 1 shall not
marry.' ’
“AVurd!" Mrs. I A vingst one’s eyes
flashed scornfully, •■When our guests
arrive to-day you will find many far
superior to Avj*. A foundling! It is
not her poverty we are rich enough
but her i>irth."
-Wo know nothing of it. and I care
nothing It is herself I love."
-Listen, Roy." 'The lady’s proud
face softened as she laid one white hand
on her son’s shoulder, while his arm
stole around her fondly. “You arc* my
only child: all my hopes are bound up
in you. Let us not quarrel about this
foolish girl. She is clear to me, also.
l>jt us take time to think. Compare
the; girl with others. When our guesfcj
are gone, if you an; in the same mind,
we will see what is best for all. Will
you promise?’’
“To wait for your consent until our
guests are gone? Yes, I can promise
that."
u And meantime not to speak of this
to Avis."
“That’s harder, mother. But if you
will tell her that you may consent, I
will obey you."
“I will tell her every word that has
passed between us," said Mrs. Living
stone.
And she meant to keep her promise.
But Avis was not waiting for her, as
she had expected. The girl had gone
to her own room, sending to Mrs. Liv
ingstone a piteous little message of ex
cuse. Her head ached. Might she bo
allowed to keep in her own chamber?
The lady smiled.
“I will set her heart at rest to-mor
row," she thought. -There is no time
now." For her expected guests were
arriving.
And when Roy look and al her inquir
ingly, as he missed the girl,
“She wished to keep her room to
night," she whispered. “All will be
well to-morrow. ’
But when to-morrow came a sad sur
prise came with it. Avis had disap
peared.
“That I may not cause you grief or
pain—you who have been to me a true
mother—l fly from a temptation that
would prove too strong if f remained.
When 1 am gone your son will soon
forget me. I pray God that he may—
for his sake. Bui I shall not forget,
nor cease to love yon.—Farewell, dear
est friends. Forgive your little
Avis."
That was all; and she had gone—
leaving no trace, making no further
sign.
In vain Roy sought for her,even with
the help of detectives: having left home
aud come to the city for that purpose;
while his mother, no less anxious for
the safety of the lost girl, made what
excuse she could to her assembled
guests for his absence. After a month
of weary searching he returned, heart
sick and discouraged.
“No news." he said, in answer to his
mother s anxious questions; “nor will
there ever be. 1 have lost all hope of
finding her."
A year has passed since gentle Avis
disappeared, and once uioru a gay par
ty of merry guests made The Laurels
bright and cheerful, foremost unions
them Rose Brandon, the beauty, and
; heiress, and belle.
j A great favorite was she with stately
j Mrs. Livingstone, and there were not
I wanted those who named her as the
| future mistress of the splendid but
i gloomy house which her beauty and
i joyous laughter made so bright.
Kven Roy Livingstone's brow, on
j which the cloud of disappointment and
! regret had grown habitual, cleared
j somewhat as his artist-eyes took iu her
fresh proud loveliness; and as he lis
tened to her animated talk, the smile
that had grown so rare stole to his lips,
j and shone like a light in his eves. His
! mother, watching him, smiled, too.
| well pleased.
“Is she not beautiful?" she whisper
ed to him. “She would make a fair
i and gracious queen for The Laurels,
j Hoy.
But the gloom came back to his face
, as he answered sadly:
“My queen w ent into exile, mother,
a year ago. I have a constant heart,
and cannot trans or my allcgian- e."
“Roy!" cried the dear merry voice
of Rose Brandon “Rov, have you given
up painting? You used to lie so ambi
tious. Only a year ago, I remember, you
were enthusiastic about some picture
that was to bring you fame. What lias
become of it? Are you an artist no
longer?"
“1 painted the picture, but never put
it on exhibition. My mother has it in
the library. I have never painted
since." said Koy gravely.
A kind of chill fell on the company;
instinctively they felt they were on dan
gerous ground. Even the beauty's
nappy voice took a softer tone as she
que tinned gently:
“May we see the picture, Roy?"
lie arose' without a word and led the
way to the library, the guests all follow
ing, led by Hose* Brandon. Last of all
came Mrs. Livingstone with her old
friend. Mrs. Grey, a fair sad woman
with silver hair.
Mrs. Grey was a great invalid; an un
conquerable grief had preyed upon her
heart for years and broken down her
fragile body. She leaned heavily on
Mrs. Livingstone's arm.
“What is this picture?" she asked
her.
“The portrait of one whom I reared
ami loved as my own child, and w hom
wo unaccountably lost, owing to an un
happy misunderstanding. She was a
lovely creature, and was to have been
Roy s wife. Sometimes 1 fear he will
never marry now."
By this time they, had reached the
library. Of the many paintings on the
wall, one only was concealed by a heavy
curtain: Uoy drotv the crimson folds
aside.
An exclamation from Mrs. Grey and
Rose Brandon, rtntlu luuriuiir of ml mir
ation from all the rest, bore witness to
the loveliness of the image that was
disclosed.
Mrs. Grey pressed forward eagerly,
her weakness seeming for the time for
gotten.
The portrait of a graceful girl, fair
as a lily-flower; the lovely, wistful eyes, l
with a world of loving tenderness i;i
th*ir midnight depths, looked out from
a face of exquisite beauty, but sis ivory,
clear and pah;: y tender, dimpling
sinile upon the scarlet lips, a (railing
spray of scarlet blossoms in the bliu£
black hair, soft and glossy as the ra
ven’s wing a simple robe of white,
and on one lovely snowy arm a curious
golden bracelet. This was all.
Mrs. Grey stood like; one entranced,
her agitation visible to all. Her deli
cate hands wi re tightly locked together,
her breath came in quick gasps.
-How like !" she murmured; “how
strangely like! In Heaven’s name, who
is she?"
“My adopted daughter," Mrs. Liv
ingstone replied, for Roy had turned
aside in silence, overcome by the si'dit
of the beauty he* had loved and lost.
“Twelve years ago 1 took her -then
live years old - from a poor old fisher
man down on the beach, three or four
miles away. He had rescued her from
the sea on the night of a great storm,
two years before, and had cherished
aud cared for her tenderly: but finding
sickne>> and obi age fast robbing hint
of health and strength, he sought to
find a friend for his little girl in me.
“Imagination cannot picture; anv
thing lovelier than the child was then.
I loved her at lirt sight, and have
loved her always. I adopted, educated
her, and brought her up as my own. I
have the- clothes she wore when she was
found, but they furnish no clue to her
parentage, blit on her arm, clasped
firmly above the elbow, was a bracelet}
it fits her >lender wrist now: you see
she wears it. in the portrait: upon it is
a single word- the old fisherman took
it to be her name, and so called her; we
never changed it. ‘Avis’ was the word,
aud ’Avis* she is called
A cry from Mrs. Grey interrupted
her: she sank upon her knees before
the picture with outstretched arms.
“Avis!" she cried. “My child —it is
my child! Fourteen years ago the cruel
sea washed her and her father from my
arms. The waves restored him dead,
but she was seen no more. Where is
she—oh, where is she? And the clothes
she wore?"
She sank back in Roy’s supp irtiug
arms speechless, almost insens blc.
Mrs. Livingstone hastened from the
room, but returned immediately with
the little garments.
Weeping with love and joy, the Jong
bereaved mother identified them all.
“Blessed be the merciful Heaven that
has kept her safely, and restored her to
me after all theso years. Aud you, my
friend," turning to Mrs. Livingstone,
“how shall I thank you for your
love and caret Oh, bring her to mo.
Let me clasp her once more in my
atms. Why do you hesitate? lam
strong enough, joy does riot kill. What
is it?" she continued wildly, gazing
with growing fear upon the pale avert
ed faces of mother and son. “Has harm
befallen my child ? Havel found her
only to lose her? Avis, my daughter!
Where is she?"
Rose Brandon rushed to her side.
“Be calm," she cried. “Avis is safe
and well. No harm has come to her.
Listen to me, I can tell you where to
find her."
“You!" it was Koy who spoke. “You
know Avis?"
“I know her well, but I have never
known, until this moment, of her con
nection with this family. Why have
vou kept your loss and grief a secret,
Roy? I could have helped you, had I
known your troubles, long ago.
“It is nearly a year since she came to
us, in answer to an advertisement for a
music-governess for little* Ida. Mother
THOMSON, GEORGIA, WEDNESDAY, APRIL Ist, 1885.
was sick wnen nrst sue called, and con
sequently I received her. She was so
beautiful and innocent, and yet so sad
and friendless, that my whole heart
went out to her from the first. She
told me the simple story of her adop
tion here, and of Roy’s love and hers,
but without mentioning a single name,
so that 1 never thought of you. She
had loft, she said, in order that he
might forget her. She gave me, as a
reference, her own former music
teacher, who* while answering for Avis
in every way, declined to tell anything
that the girl had left concealed. So
she came to us, and has dwelt with us
ever since, quiet and sad, poor child,
but safe and kindly eared for. I left
her at home with Ida and mother when
1 came away. She is there now."
Roy Livingstone caught her hands in
his, and press and them to his lips.
“God bless you, Rose!" lie cried,
hoarse with emotion, “You have given
me back happiness and love. Mrs.
Grev, L will bring your daughter to you.
1 go by tne train mat leaves m nan an
hour; before nightfall you shall fold
her in your arms. Adieu, all!" and ho
was gone.
*****
The dusky grey of an autumn twi
light filled the lonely schoolroom that
afternoon, but occasionally Hashes of
light, from a small but cheerful fire,
fell on the slender girlish figure that
sat before it in a low armchair, her
sott pale cheek supported by one little
hand, her eyes fixed on the glowing
coals.
A world of longing love and fond re
gret was in those great dark eyes, that
saw not what they gazed upon, but
were looking far away into the past.
Thinking of Roy-always thinking of
Boy. \\ here was he? How fared lie?
Had he forgotten Avis? Alas! poor
Avis could not forget! Hark! what was
that?
A footstep in the lmll outside the
door. Nothing in that to make the
eves so bright and the pale chock Hush
to vivid crimson! Ah. hut it had
sounded like Roy s footstep. Roy's
footstep here what idle dreaming!
IV hut strange tricks fancy played her
oftentimes.
She could close her eyes, and hide
her face in her hands, as now now,
partly for shame at her own fond folly
and fancy, oh, such things! Fancy
The Laurels her happy home once
more, and Mrs. Livingstone her kind
adopted mother! Fancy Boy’s tender
smile and loving look; recall the very
word-lie spoke - his earnest tone liis
sigh.
A\ hat was that? That was not fancy,
surely? She sat quite si ill her face
si ill covered by her hands- and listened;
a sigh had sounded close beside her,
breathed like the very echo of her
dream; and now a voice—oh, Heaven,
wnat voice!- whispered h r name:
“Avis! Look at me, Avis!"
Sheturned.sliero.se, gazed for one
moment in his face as if bewildered;
then, with a cry of love and joy unut
terable: “Roy! my beloved!" sprang to
the arms, sunk on the breast of her true
lover.
’ You have found mo!" she cried.
“You have found me!"
“Never to lose you again, Avis -
never again!"
“And \our mother?"
Her great eyes searched his face tim
idly, anxiously.
“•She will welcome you as I do. We
shall part no more. You will learn,
dear, that she never meant to part us.
And-another waits for you. Oh, come,
love, come to the heart that aches to
welcome you to the arms of your own
true mother."
♦ * * * *
Only one month later, a brilliant
bridal party aroused to jov and mirth
the slumbering echoes of The Laurels.
And who so fair as Avis, the sweet
bride, with her troop of lovely brides
maid';, of whom Rose Brandon laughed
and blushed, the merry chief? Whoso
rich, so proud, so happy as Avis now?
Avis, the foundling, found, indeed, at
last, and by her own true mother. Avis,
the lost, restored to all who loved and
mourned her; Avis, the joyful bride of
the generous noble lover who, in the
days of her poverty and nameless ness
mi spit • of tune, and absence, and si
lence, and desertion - loved her faith
fully and truly to the last.
Sonic New Geography.
Of what is the surface of the earth
composed ?
Of corner lots, mighty poor roads,
base-ball grounds, cricket field* and
skating rinks.
What portion of the globe is water?
About three-fourths. Sometimes they
add a little gin and nutmeg to it.
What is a town?
A town is a considerable collection of
houses and inhabitants, with four or
Ive men who “run the party" and lend
money at 15 per cent interest.
What is a city?
A city is an incorporated town, with
a Mayor who believes the whole world
shakes when he happens to full llut on
the, sidewalk.
What is commerce?
Borrowing 85 for a day or two and
dodging the lender for a year or two.
Name the different races.
Horse-race, boa-race, bycycle-race,
and racing around to find a man to
endorse your note.
Into how many classes is mankind
divided?
Seven—-Enlightened, civilized, half
civilized, savage, too utter, not worth a
cent, and Indian Agents.
What nations are called enlightened?
Those which have the most wars, and
the worst law's, and produce the worst
criminals.
How many motions has the earth?
That’s according to how you mix
vour drinks, and which way you go
home.
What is the earth’s axis?
The lines passing between New York
and San Francisco.
What causes day and night?
Day is caused by night getting tired
out. Night is caused by everybody
taking the street-cars and going home
to supper.
What is a map?
A map is a drawing to show the jury
where Smith stood when Jones gave
him a lift under the eye.
What is a mariner’s compass?
A jug holding four gallons. —Sun
Francisco hews-Letter.
The number of medical colleges in
the United State’s and Canadas is stat
ed to be 130. Of medical students
there are 12,000, of whom 10,000 are
“regulars," 1,200 are homeopathic, 700
electics, and 50 physio-medieals.
There is less blood in cold-blooded
than in warm-blooded animals. The
larger the animal the greate** is the pro
portion of blood to the body. Man has
about a gallon and a half of blood,
equal to onc-thirticth of his weight.
SINNING FOR LOVE.
Over hill, and dale, and soft green
meadows, fell the golden haze of a
summer afternoon. A dreary silence
filled tlie air, unbroken save by the
hum of the bees and twitter of the birds
in the trees.
Under the branches of a drooping
tree a girl was standing, a girl fair and,
young, more t an passing fair. Only
at this moment the beauty of her face
was marred by the exmssion of bitter
hate that darkened it. "While her eyes
rested on a slight eminence that rose a
few steps away.
She was in the shadow, and on tho
hill another lady ant a gentleman
were standing.
The girl, Cleta Manors, watched the
lovers, for such HestcrjLcigli and Guy
Singleton most certainly were, her
eyes glowing, her breach coming quick,
her short, little
sively.
“She will never bo his wife!" she
cried passionately; “before that I
would take her life with my own
hands."
Suddenly, almost at her side, there
broke forth, low, clear, and sweet, and
full of an almost agonizing pathos, a
girl's voice in the ballad:
“Do not trust him. irenile lady,
Though his voice bo low aim snoot;
Ileed not him who kmidis before thee,
tiently ploiulinv; ur thy loot.”
A swift change passed over Clot a
Manvors’s face, and she turned in the
direction of the sound ami came face
to fact) with the singer, a gipsy girl of
perhaps eighteen, a girl with a rich,
dark loveliness, but whose face was
pallid, and whose great dark eyes were
full of pain and despair, as well as
madness.
C’h talaid her hand on tho girl’s
shoulder.
“Have you seen him yet," she said;
“have ypu seen Guy Singleton?"
The girl’s eyes grew wild.
“1 will never find him, never, never!
I have wandered far and near, but 1
see him not. He is Wone, gone for
ever; but 1 must find Win;" and then
she turned in the direction she had
come, and fled down the pathway.
Chita looked alter her.
“Is love woman's curse?” she said.
“Has it been yours as well, fait
Cleta?" and a pair of dark, Hashing
eves were looking into hers, and a
dark, mocking face smiled at the ter
ror that actually whitened her lips.
A low erv left her lips.
“Vernon Singleton alive!” she
gasped.
“Alive and well, and as angelic as
over," he answered.
“As li ndish," she said; then sudden
ly: “I thought you dead, and you an
here."
“And gloried in the thought, no
doubt; and here I am, my beloved
wife."
Her eyes Hashed.
“Do not. dare to repeat that," she
said. “I am not your wife. There was
nothing in that ceremony that bound a
child to you a ehil with passion
and pain."
“Yet woman enough for that pain to
come from love, and mm jttiled love,
as it is still, I see;" and his eyes rested
on the eminence where Hester and Guy
still stood, unconscious ox the watch
ers.
“1 am afraid he is lost to you for
certain, now even if I did exist no
longer. I think you may give up, tny
dear." Then changing his manner:
“Listen, Cleta," lie said; “I will never
claim you if you help me in this plot."
“What is it?"
Vernon talked low and earnestly for
awhile, and Cleta listened silently.
“Meet me here to-ilighl," he said in
conclusion, “and we will settle tho best
way to manage it."
The next instant she was alone again
anew tempest of rage in her bosom.
“Tile fool!" she aid: “does he think
I would trust him? He has signed his
own death-warrant."
| She met him that night, and listened
j while he further explained hi* plan.
The moon shone pale and high, but
j as Ik; turned to leave her it passed
! behind a mountain of clouds, and
then
Then a pistol gleamed in (Meta’s
white hand, a shot rang out on the
night air, and the man fell forward
dead shot through the heart.
The woman bent over him. Yes, lie
was dead.
Dow n below, the river ran deep and
dark, and without a moment's hesita
tion, with almost superhuman excr
| lion for her, she dragged him towards
i it.
It was terrible work, but she never
paused, though her face grew pallid,
her eyes wild with fear.
One last effort a terrible ominous
: thud. The body had sunk below the
; water.
She went home and entered as she
had left, unobserved, and threw her
self on the couch, not to sleep, but to
think of her crime and wonder was she
safe.
She was aroused, however, in a f*w
hours, for she had fallen at length into
a deep doze, by the cries of Hester.
-t 'ome quickly, " e and; “undo
! is dying. Be quick, Cleta."
(Meta leaped, to her feet, her heart
beating. Only an old man dying* Ah,
heaven, what had she feared? Even to
i her soyl she feared to whisper that.
Yes, their uncle, or more pro erly
! speaking, their grand-uncle, was dying,
1 nay, almost dead, the kind old man
| who had brought them up from ehild
| hood.
••Where is -where is Guy?" the dy
i lug man said.
In a few minutes his adopted son
| stood at the bedside.
The old man who had been more
i than a father to him, and was a dis
tant relation, for the true name as well
as name by adoption of Guy was Sin
gleton, was almost past speaking, but
he pointed to the girls.
“Either of them, Guy, for you—you
He said no more-his soul had passed
to its God.
'Two days later they laid him to rest
in the. grave, and then, in the dim
old library* the will was read.
He gave and bequeathed all he pos
sessed to hi* adopted son, Guy Single
ton, on condition ho wed Cleta Alan
vers, or Hester Leigh, within the year.
To his other grand-niece, the one whom
Guy did not marry, lie left ten thous
and pounds, to be paid out of the es
tate on Guy’s wedding-day.
If Cleta Manvcrs was a beauty, so
was Hester, of a different type, a differ
ent and a nobler.
Cleta was fair as a lily, with golden
hair and eyes of cerulean blue, while
Hester’s eyes were deep, soft brown,
her hair chestnut, thick and wavy.
Cleta’s face was rose-tinted anu dim
pled, white a Hush seldom stained the
fair, pure pallor of Hester’s delicate
face.
With al’ the passion of his heart, Guy
iovea nesier t,eign—ms purc-souiea
• darling, he called her—and any one
) might know, when the will was read,
that she would be the chosen mistress
i of the stately home where tho girls had
; spent their lives.
Up and down her owu room Cleta
walked.
He loved Hester, and the girl slio
bated would have love, wealth, position,
while she would have ten thousand
pounds.
“I would dye my hands rod again,"
she cried, “before Hester should reign
here triumphant. After all, my crime
might as well not have been; yet 1
could not. have trusted him. Had he
lived, 1 cannot tell what trick he would
have played me.
“I was to destroy the will, and then
as nearost-of-kin he would inherit all,
and to me ho would give one-third.
But the fool, to never dream the other
plot in my mind, which his corning
would thwart -a plot that will at least
part Hester and Guv. and then perhaps
l will win him. It is mv last hope."
Whatever her plot, she played it
well, for when, three or four months
before the expiration of the year,
Guy asked Hester to be his wife, she
simply answered him, “No."
She gave no explanation, only turn
ed coldly away, but had he seen her in
tiie seclusion of her own room, he
would have known, no matter what
had caused her refusal, that she loved
him.
“My love, my love!" she cried;
“though all unworthy, I cannot tear
you from mv heart."
Vh. what weeks would have been
saved -at least, what weeks of agony,
had Guy known the truth, had he known
of a gipsy mother who accused him of
wrecking her child's life, had cursed
him with a mother's curse, for the gip
sy girl who had stood under the tree,
t hen lied at Cleta's words, lay in her
grave, and her last words to her mother
had been the name *>f her lover, Guy
►Singleton.
“My curse around him and around
the woman he weds," she cried in her
frenzy.
Was it any wonder, then, that when
Guy Singleton asked Hester to be his
wife, white and trembling she refused,
turning coldly away from his pleading.
It was then that (.’leta played her
cards well, for Guy found a sym
pathizer in her, and, man-like, Guy
found sweetness in it—at least, a balm
for tin; time for the blow Hester had
given him.
Then it dawned upon him that this
girl, with her eyes of blue and hair of
gold, loved him with a passion he had
uover dreamed of.
What man is not flattered by a wo
man’s love, particularly if she is young
a .<1 beautiful -ami this girl was both.
\V ill) soft, sweet smiles she won him
Not that his heart yielded to her spell,
but his senses, dazzled by her smiles
and sympathy united, put his better
judgment to flight, though his heart
wax ami always would be, Hester’s.
One of the girls he must wed, or leave
them both penniless. A If* had h
dreamed of Hester’s pain and hopeless
ness of heart he might have less quickly
lied for consolation to anot er.
A few months later—almost at the
expiration of the year Guy Singleton
made Gleta his wife. Crime and sin
had conquered.
She was mistresof her uncle’s wealth
and wife of the man she adored.
She knew her husband did not love
her, hut she had triumphed. In time
he would learn to love her. She must
win Ins love.
Yes, she had triumphed; but did the
memory of the man she had sent before
bis Judge cease to haunt her morning, !
noon, or night ?
Hester bore her pain in silence. If l
gentle, she was far from weak, and
though her face grew paler, her eyes
more dreamv, none dreamed of the
weary days and wakeful nights that
were hers. Sin- had loved Guy with all
ihe strength of her heart, but he had
proved unworthy.
Did tin* knowledge—hud the knowl
edge killed her love? No a thousand
times no! Love lived, though it. lay
bleeding. All, how well she loved him
she never knew till he was the husband
of another!
Her life stretched bare and hopeless
before her, death would have been wel
come, or at least she believed it would
have, been, in the first great desolation
of her soul.
But then in ('lota’s triumph -in the
very height of if, the bolt of God’s
vengeance fell, when the end of all
tilings came.
One day while out riding, a man
leaped from a grove near where she
was passing.
A wild cry left her lips. Dead or
al vi*, Vernon Singleton stood b fore
her. Heavenly father, what difference
did it make? Dead! had lie come to
haunt her living, to drag her from her
high estate?
A mocking laugh broke fiom the
man's lips as lie caught the reins, and
then —then the horse reared, swerved,
rose on its hind legs, and Cleta lay
, white and senseless on the ground. i
Without a look (if pity, Vernon
glanced down on the marble face, and
the pallid lips now flecked with blood,
then turned and left her there till others
found her.
They carried her home, but the doc
tor’s verdict ended all hope. She must
die.
Ah, what change comes to our spirit
at the hour of death. Then, indeed,
the eyes see clearly, and &r terrible fore
know! edge that fills the soul with awe
comes to us.
Knowing that it was her death-bed, j
knowing that all she had sinned for i
was going from her now, she sent for !
Hester and Guy, and told them all. The !
story of her marriage to Vernon, whom !
his uncle had disinherited shortly after j
for his wild career.
How, when all believed him dead, he I
returned; and then the story of her j
crime- her crime that had failed, for
consciousness had come back to Ver- |
won when he struck the water, and the j
wound was scarcely even dangerous.
Then she turned to*Hester.
“Hester, I led that gipsy woman to
believe that Guy was the lover who
wrecked her daughter’s life, but it was
Vernon."
Her breath came short and labored, j
and a gray shadow fell over her face.
“Guy Guy—l - I Ah, God have
mercy!”
The next instant she was pleading \
before His throne.
One year later Hester and Guy were j
married, hut they never speak (Meta’s j
name, which, if not forgotten, is not j
willingly remembered, save by Hester, ■
whose gentle heart cannot think but
with pity of the beautiful, sin-stained
woman who lies in her grave.
Vernon Singleton never came near j*
them, but he sent a messenger for some
money, which Guy gave. and. then ho
passed from their lives for ever: and
; men tne past was xorgotcen oy nester
; and Guy—the past darkness that had
; ended in a happy present, and a future
full of hope.
Ladies* Costumes In Africa.
| The only primitive costumes we saw,
writes one of our correspondents, was
ou the first day leaving Assouan on the
left bank—the country of the Kalabseh
! —where the young ladies simply wore
round the loins a fringe composed of
thin leather strips. The married ladies
were clothed to the feet. Curiously
enough, the women on both banks hate
or dread being looked at through a
glass. One I saw run away, screaming
as hard as she could; others at once
cover their blanching faces with their
hands, it is a fact not generally known
that dark-skinned ladies blush white.
Others again anathematize you ac
cording to a fashion all over the East,
even among the Greeks of Constantino
ple, by holding up their hand, palm
outward, and jerking it toward vou.
This, I am told, means May five devils j
seize you! If they wish to emphasize !
tho spell they put up ten lingers. Oth- 1
ors say this is a protection against the I
evil eye.
. At some villages, encouraged by the
soldiers who Hung biscuits from the
decks, lads and girls ran frantically
along the banks scrambling for them,
to the great indignation of tho land
owners over whose crops they ran riot. |
In vain these colored gentlemen stood
iu the way, Hying mud and stones at
them. They scrambled by, and contin
ued the chase as long as biscuit was
llung or until dead beat.— London
A Most Question.
Mr. Wilberforce is not a bad man in
his way, but he was sorely put out the
other morning at breakfast. He had
lent a neighbor most of his parlor
chairs, and when he entered the room
he found but one of these useful articles
of domestic economy left.
Ho immediately called his daughter,
and turning angrily to her, demanded:
“You entertained Augustus Smith
for two hours last evening in this
room? "
“I did, pa," confessed the maiden
with a blush.
“And where did lie sit?"
“On that chair."
“And where did you sit?"
“L 1~1 ’’
“No prevarication. Where did you
sit?"
“I—oh, gracious! I I sat ou tho
coal hod, pa."
Mr. Wilberforce says he doubts the
statement; but where could the poor
girl have sat? —Evansville Argus.
An Honest Beggar.
A benevolent lady investigated the
wants of some professional beggars the
other day.
“Where is the the blind man?" she
asked of a little girl she met at the
■cTdoff of the tenement house.
“He's residin' der paper, mum."
“Ah! And when; is tho deaf man?"
“He’s talkin' politics wid de butch
er. ’ ’
“And what has become of the. para
lytic?"
“He's abed, mum."
“Well, that's strange. He ought to
be running a race," replied the lady,
sarcastically. “He is the only honest
beggar iu the building. Why is he in
bed?"
“Because lie's dead, mum," — Drake'*
Travclcrs Alayuzinc.
GLEANINGS.
i
Six millions of dollars’ wor h of sil
ver is used in this country every year
for manufacturing and decorative pur
poses.
Forty years ago there was only ono
daguerreotype gallery iu New York
City. Now within three milev of Uniou
Square there are not less than 600 pho
tograph galleries.
The town of Newington, N. 11., has
no store, no saloon, no debt, no lawyer,
no doctor, nobody in the almshouse,
and “no one to molest, or make ono
afraid." it has one church.
It is estimate ! that more than 3,000
people have moved away from Fort
land, Ore., during the last year, and
the town is uncomfortably full of va
cant residences and store-rooms.
Ten pounds of normal alcohol have
been made from six pounds of water
melon pulp. Free sulphuric •acid was
added, the mixture was warmed, aud
the sugar was changed into glucose.
This product ferments directly.
“Holographic’’ is the name ot a nmv
science just introduced in France. It
is the act of disciiroim ting character
by the beard. < Mose-growiug hair in
dicates a vigorons temperament; coarse
hair obstinacy; line hair, refinement;
curly beards, brilliancy, etc.
General Joe Johnson, who is now 77
years old, does not look over 60. He
is as straight ns an arrow, and the only
sign of age is seen in his silky gray
hair, which Hows in silvery curls almost
to his shoulders, and in Ins full gray
beard. Otherwise he might pass for a
young man.
Anew clock has been invented, and
j coming into use in Europe, which is j
I warranted by its man facturers to run 1
for live years without either winding or |
regulation. The Belgian Government
placed one in a railway station in 1881, i
sealed with the Government seal, and it
has kept perfect time ever since.
Massachusetts lias more railroad
travel than any other State in the Un
iot). The number of passengers car
ried by the roads last year was 58,000,-
000. Pennsylvania comes next with
50.000.00 t), and New York next, with
•11,000,000. Illinois, New Jersey and
Ohio follow in t lie order named.
A novel experiment of carrying a
railroad through a forest has been tried
in Sonoma County, California. The
trees are sawed oil' and leveled and the
ties are fastened on the stump , two of
which are huge redwoods side by side
and reaching seventy-live feet from the
ground. .So firm is this support that
heavily loaded cars pqs* over with per
fect security.
Mr. George Lunt, the old poet, has
found a lig tree growing in the seacoast
town of Seituate, Mass., probably
springing from the seeds of a lig drop
ped in the spot, protected by a uoorslll
and warmed by a cellar. * The tree
dies down with every frost, but for five
summers has sprung up again, growing
to the heights of nearly six feet, but as
yet bearing no fruit.
A great English authority once de
clared that no good girl would have
more than three proposals -thefirst she
would be too inexperienced to under
stand wliul was coining to uuas; a see
NO. la.
j oral oiler might happen without her
fault, but the third time she must be
forewarned, and unless sho meant to
I accept the man she ought to save him
I the pain of a refusal.
I The streets of Winnipeg, Manitoba,
! hre vr*y picturesque in the afternoons.
Young exquisites with single eye-glass
es languidly stare at daintily-dressed
ladies of fashion. Stolid half-breeds
walk ba* k and forth with toes turned
in. while Indian squaws trudge along
with their infants strapped to boards
on their backs. Mounted police in
scarlet coats and white helmets add
color to the scene.
A few days ago some dry sago on the
battlefield of Missionary Ridge, near
Chattanooga, Tenn., took tire and the
flames spread with great rapidity. A
stump soon blazed up and m a few
seconds a roar like thunder reverber
ated down the valley, and the stump
was blown into ten thousand pieces.
Investigation developed the fact that
three shells were imbedded in the stump
and exploded from the heat.
Tho old Schuyler mansion in Albany,
now to be raised, was built iu 1700 by
the wife of General Philip Schuyler,
and was a marvel of grandeur in its
early days. Franklin,Lafayette, Aaron
Burr, and Rochamheau were among its
guests. Here Burguvne was held
prisoner after his .surrender at Sarato
ga, and in 1781 a desperate effort was
made by Tories, and Indians to capture
General Schuyler. Gathering his fami
ly in an upper room he stood seige un
til relief came.
The grown-up Mormons are exceed
ingly hard to convert to anything liko
. orthodox Christianity. But the teach -
| or* and missionaries who are trying to
j evangelize Utah are at work on the
| children, who are plenty in that eonn
j try. Seventy-one school buildings have
! been built at a cost of nearly 8300,000
and a dozen or more schools are held
jin rented buildings. There are about
• 7,500 Mormon children under anti-
Morruon instruction, and they are said
to make good scholars.
In a ease of extensive burn unhealed,
after six years. Dr. Frank (\ Wilson, of
Louisville, Ky., in the .1 f> client News,
says: “I made use of three different
kinds of skin grafts, namely, from sho
skin of a young rabbit, from the hu
man skin, and from the inner mem
brane of a hen’s perfectly fresh egg."
Of the three, he much preferred the
egg membrane as being much more
; readily obtained, aud one egg will sup
ply any number of grafts needed:
The great, cathedral in the city of
Mexico is the largest in America, and
cost nearly $2,000,000: It was com
menced by the Spaniards iu 1573, on
the site of the old Aztec temple, or pyr
amid, and finished iu 1667. Its facade
is beautifully carved. Against it*
western wall leans its celebrated calen
dar, covered with hieroglyphics, and
weighing twenty-live tons. Its cast,
which the Mexican Government is at
present engaged in taking, will be ex
hibited at the New Orleans Exposition.
At La Canada, at Los Angelos, Cal
ifornia. what is known as “corn grass,"
a wild kind of pampas, is very abun
dant. During the spring and summer
it. is green, fresh, and abundant, grow
ing to a straight height of from nine to
ten and a half feet. Yet the stalks are
small, also the roots, but they’ are so
solid that a wind could not blow them
an iota from the perpeudiculaY. But iu
the fall and winter this growth be
comes stiff, with a strong fibre, and,
with proper application there are
many acres of it— would make better
paper than straw or cactus.
Twenty acres of land at the north
western extremity of Manhattan Island
were sold recently for $75,<XK>. Histo
rically this property possesses great'in
terest. Irving,in his “Knickerbocker’s
History of New York," refers to it as
“the promontory which projects into
the Hudson," aud from which the val
orous but unfortunate Van Corlear—
the favorite trumpeter of old Peter
Stuyvosant- attempted, “in spite of the
devil," to swim across the dark anil
stormy waters of t he creek to the West
chester shore. During the revolution
ary war it was at diffi-rent times occu
pied by the contending forces.
No, my son, prize-fighters never go
to war. They’ know that a cannon
ball, bent upon knocking a man out in
one round, doesn’t stop and go back to
its own corner merely because the man
lies down. You never hear of a prize
fighter fighting anywhere unless there
is lots of gate money behind the fight.
—Bnrlington llawkcye.
John Fizzletep is not as industrious
as he might be at school, and his father
endeavors to correct the evil. “Soyou
were kept in again to-day at school for
not knowing your lesson. .fust walk
J into that room," said old Fizzletep,
hunting for a strap. “Oh, no, pa.
Don’t ior goodness’ sake let us have
another one of those scenes."
They were talking about the suffer
ings of the Greely party. “It’s a ter
rible thing, isn’t it,* Clara," said
Charles, “to live off the flesh of human
beings?’’ “Oh, I don’t know," replied
, Clara, a bride of six. months. “You
are a cannibal, too, Charley. You liv
I off father, you know." diaries fainted
i dead away—at the ancient flavor of the
j cutting remark.— Traveler's Magazine.
A Little Rock man sold his cooking
; stove to get money enough to take hi*
j family to the ciicus. When one of his
friends remonstrated with him he said:
l “We had no use for the stove; had
nothing to cook." “But why didn’t
you buy something to eat with the
money you got for the stove?" “Then
we should have nothing to cook it on.
Don’t talk to me. I’m a philosopher."
—A rka ns aw 'J 'ra vclcr.
•Oh, dear," sighed a woman who
was always complaining about iier
health, and who was never, under any
circumstances, without some serious
ailment, “I feel so wretchedly this
morning. I think lam the most un
fortunate woman alive." “Yes," said
her husband, syinpathizingly. “I feel
very sorry for you, indeed, my dear. I
don’t believe there is a woman in the
world who enjoys such poor health a*
you do.”— New York Sun.
Th© Comanche Indians are said to
he starving. There is no reason why'
the Comanehes should starve. Let
some New York lady of fashion do
away with her .poodle and take a Co-'
manelie for a pet. Then all the other
fashionable ladies will take one. In
this way the Government will not only.*
be relieved of all the expense, t>iu
Indians will bo fed and pltytued.—
Louisville (Jou Her-Jon mat.
The interests of ||ie drama are safe.
This year’s crop of peanuts is 1,000,(XX)
bushels larger than that of last year,
and actors all over the country aro
bound to have large and pleased audi-*
eucos. — Atlanta Constitution,