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W. 15 .
To-Day.
© *weet To-d*y! too sweet to lut
Bejoafl » few short momeote’ space,
And then the vision ol thy face
Deoomee a memory of the past.- 4
Ah! stay thy fleeting feet, I pray,
A little longer, sweet To-day.
O street To-day V why must thou got
The sky is blue, the earth is Air,
And summer’s larking everywhere.
There’s music in the winds that blow.
Ah! stay thy flying feet, I pray,
A little longer, sweet To-day.
O sweet To-day! *tis not too late;
I would not lose thee yet a while;
Thera’s pleasure in thy sunn/ smile;
I’m happy and can laugh at Fate.
Ah! stay thy flying feet, I pray, ■
A little longer, sweet To-day. 1
O sad To-day, that once was sweet!
The put is gone beyond recall;
Hie future lies within a pell,
No more thy dear name l repeat.
In vain I begged of thee to stay
A little longer, sweet To-day.
Marion Homer in Toton Topics.
THE LINEN CLOSET.
“For my part,” said Aunt Sylvia, “I
don’t admire the young man.”
Minnie Dartford’s pretty head
dropped slightly, and she thought
within herself how little of the sym¬
pathetic element existed between old
maid aunts and 17-year-old nieces, and
wondered if there ever had been a
time when Aunt Sylvia, too, was
young, with the fresh electric current
of love stirrinj^in her pulses!
Minnie Dartford was a hazel-eyed,
rose-cheeked little witch, with perfect¬
ly arched eye-brows, and a mouth as
fresh as tire freshest rosebud in all the
garden bowers, and her white dress,
shining faintly through the summer
twilight, seemed to float round her
like a cloud, as she sat there, watch¬
ing the stars that glimmered indis¬
tinctly through the purple deeps of
the ^ky, and thinking how very un¬
reasonable Aunt Sylvia was.
«» »»
m mv
— - --- ------ nee ._JrT its sheath
with an emphasis, “I do not fancy
Herbert Arundel!’’
“He is our guest, Aunt Sylvia.”
-Yon are mistaken there, Minnie,
He came here uninvited, with your
brother’s friend, Mr. Lee.”
“But now that he is here. Aunt, we
must treat him with courtesy.”
“I’ve no objection in life to treating
him with courtesy, child; but I’ve a
sort of an idea that he would like you
to treat him with something warmer
and more enthusiastic!”
How thankful Minnie Dartford was
at that moment to the friendly dusk
which veiled the crimson blushes that
suffused brow and cheek at Aunt Syl¬
via’s cleverly-aimed random shot.
Had it then come to that? Was
she, indeed, learning to love Herbert
Arundel? And a thrill of strange,
inexpressible happiness eddied through
ber heart, as her inmost consciousness
answered:
“Yea.”
Alas! poor Clarence Lee! The pa¬
tient years of devotion, during which
he had waited for the rose-bud of
Minnie Dartford’s beauty to expand
into the perfect blossom of woman¬
hood—the loyal love, the unfaltering
constancy—how lightly they weighed
In the balance against this stranger’s
easy address and dashing fascination
of manner. The way of the world—
unalterable, yet how strange!
j Aunt Sylvia listened for an answer,
but none came. Minnie hardly knew
what reply It would be best to frame.
, “1 think, Minnie,” said the old lady,
after a moment or two of silence, “that
it would be better for you to accept
Antonia Wyilis’ invitation to spend
the month of September at her home.
*It will at least separate you from the
companionship of this young man,
and-”
“But I don’t want to be separated
from him, Aunt Sylvia.”
Minnie spoke with spirit and ener¬
gy, and the color deepened visibly on
her cheek.
"Minnie!”
“Aunt Sylvia!”
“Has it gone so far as this ?”
•‘I don’t know what you mean by
‘It,’ ” rwponded the girl biting her
Ups; “but I do know, Airat Sylvia,
that I shall not run away from Mr.
Arundel as if I feared some strange
contagion in his pr®ence. This is ray
home, and here I shall remain to en¬
tertain my brother’s guwts as best I
may!”
“Irr®pectiye of consequences?”
“Y®; entirely irrespective of eon
:
SPRING PLACE. GEORGIA, TH1 SDAY, NOVEMBER 5. 1885.
- --——;— -<--
Aunt Sylvia remonstrated no fur¬
weak ther; she saw quite plainly that It
be of no use. Minnie, like
many another spoiled child and petted
beauty, was determined to have her
own way.
Aunt Sylvia was ho logician; neither
did she pretend to the magical powers
of vision belonging to the "seventh
daughter of a seventh daughter,” hut
she knew quite enough of human iia*
ture in its various manifestations to
be sure that Herbert Arundel was un¬
worthy to wear a jewel like Minnie
Dartford’s love upon i^s heart,
“An empty, feather-brained fool,
with no more heart than a stone im¬
age!” was Aunt Sylvia's inward ver¬
dict Nor was it altogether incorrect
Meanwhile Minnie, with her
thoughts and fancies drifting sweetly
away upon the fathomless sea of a
young girl’s reverie, sat at the win*
dow, still thinking of ohe personage—
Herbert Arttndel.
“Aunt Sylvia is foolishly prejudic¬
ed,” she thought, "He is as true and
noble as he is handsome, and none but
the carping and envious could pick a
flaw in his character ot demeanor,
As if 1 Would go to Antonia wyilis’
ahd leave him here! How graceful
he looked on the ‘croquet ground*
yesterday—and how well he rides, 1
wonder if 1 shall ever see Magnolia
Dell, that sunny home of his which he
describes so eloquently. I don’t think
it is altogether impossible, for I think
—yes, I am quite sure—he leves me!
His lips have never spoken words to
that effect, but there is a language of
eye and manner, and——-”
Minnie’s mind was absorbed in these
fancies, when a knock came to the
door, and the old housekeeper put her
head into the room.
“Miss Minnie, the sheets is ready
for the linen closet!”
“The sheets!” Minnie shrugged her
shoulders a little impatiently. “Why
couldn’t -odd—Peggy - -have waited^
Very well, Peggy, I’ll see to that,
presently!”
“But they ought to be put away
now > miss,” persisted the obdurate old
servant. “I’ve strewed sprigs of lav*
ender and dried rose leaves between
all the folds, and If you’d please to
put them on the shelv® now——
Minnie rose with a scarcely sup¬
pressed sigh. She knew Peggy too
well to hope for any peace until her
behests were fulfilled.
The heap of snowy linen lay on the
hall table, white and fragrant through
the toils of Peggy’s skilled digits, and,
taking a pile on her arm, Minnie Dart¬
ford went to the linen closet, a small
room, opening out on that allotted to
the present occupation of Clarence
Lee and Mr. Herbert Arundel,
She glanced timidly in before she
entered, to make sure that neither of
her brother ’3 guests were In the apart¬
ment, and then hurried through, t
place the linen in its nook.
She had scarcely reached tip to de¬
posit the pile on the high shelf above
her head, when voices and. footsteps
fell on her ear, and, with a palpitating
heart, Minnie felt that she was like a
caged bird, among the shelves, laden
with sheets and pillow-cases. Mr.
Arundel had entered his room—the
spicy odor of his cigar already pro¬
claimed the fact to her olfactori®,
even were there no other witnesses,
and with bim a stranger had been
ushered in.
Minnie stood quite still, hoping that
their incursion was but for a moment,
and their withdrawal would pr®ently
leave her free to beat a retreat The
door of the closet was partially drawn
to, and she was at least sure of not
being discovered. The color rose to
her cheek at the idea of thus involun¬
tarily playing the part of eav®dropper;
but what else could she do?
‘•Sit down, Lewis,” cried Mr. Arun¬
del, drawing forward an easy chair;
"make yourself at home. Your cigar
isn’t out, I hope?”
“No, it’s ail right,” said the strange
voice. “I say, old fellow, speaking of
making one’s self at home, it strik®
me that you are practising the thing
yourself ratner extensively here!”
Arundel laughed.
“I am at home,” he said complacent¬
ly. “Why, bl®s your heart alive,
Lewis, the good people here think I’m
the greatest man alive.”
“They’ll find their mistake after
awhile.”
“Not until I’ve made a sure thing
of it,” answered Arundel.
“What do you mean ?”
“I mean that 1 am going to marry
the girl”
"What, tbe little heiress?” echoed
the man whom Arundel had called
LeWiS.
“Well, yes, if you choose to call her
sa No great heiress, after alii but 1
dare say I catt find a Use for her twen
ty-flve thousand dollars. And. to
crown all, Che’s desperately in love
With me.”
The other ladghed hoarsely- A
sneering sound, which made the blood
boil indignantly in Minnie Hartford's
Veins,
“You always did play the deuce
Among the girls,” he said. “So she’s
in love With you, eh?”
“Yes, It's quite amhsing to watch
the progress of her infatuation,’*
answered Aruhdei. “1 haven't pro¬
posed yet, simply because I don’t want
to precipitate the moment, Bless you,
she jump into toy arms to-morrow if i
Were to pop the question!’*
"She’d jtimp out again quick
enough, if she knew you half as wel!
as I do!’* jeered the other.
“But she don’t, you see!” said
Arundel II i Where ignorance is bliss,
’tis folly to be wise’—yon know the
old saying And the best of it is that
I’Ve somehow contrived to cut out
another lover, who has been, hanging
around after her eVer since she was a
Child in bib-aprona—-a man Whom any
girl ought to be proud to attract—
Clarence t,ee!”
“She’s a fool!” was the muttered
comment.
“Granted,” said Arundel lightly;
“but then you and I know that all
women are fools.”
“Not always, Mr. Arundel,” answer¬
ed a calm, quiet voice, and Minnie
Dartford stood before him, her white
dress shimmering like the rob® of a
phantom in the semj-darkness, “for at
least the lesson of their folly--
teach them to be wiser in time.”
“Misa Dartford!” echoed >Jgj
while *
companion looked on as if he would
very much like to disappear through
the cracks of the floor.
"I have unwillingly been compelled
to listen to your edifying conversation
0 f the last few minutes,” Minnie went
relentessly on, “and you yourself can
easily imagine how completely I have
been enlightened thereby. I suppose
I ought to be angry with you; but I
can only feel thankful for the fate
which has been averted from me.
Good evening, Mr. Arundel, and good
by.”
And, with a low inclination of her
head Miss Dartford passed from the
room, and Herbert Arundel never saw
her more!
He left town the self-same evening,
carrying with him the inter®ting
consciousness that he had overplayed
his part and thwarted his own plans.
And Clarence never knew what had
opened the ev® of his capricious little
charmer. He only rejoiced that she
had once more taken him into favor.
“Well,” said Aunt Sylvia, on the
morning of the day on which Minnie
Dartford became Mrs. Clarence Lee,
“I do believe I’m the happiest old
woman alive!”
"And I’m the happi®t young one,
.Aunt Sylvia,” laughed Minnie. “So
there is a pair of us!”
No Harrying There.
“Samuel,” said Mrs. Tolblitter, as
they were walking home from church,
“how did you like the preacher’s de¬
scription of heaven?”
“First-rate, my dear,” said he, with
energy.
"It what he said is all true, and of
course it is, what do you think you will
like t he best when you get there Sam¬
uel?”
“The arrangements for securing
peace,” said he, with glibness.
“Now, Samuel, what do you mean
by that?”
“They don’t have any marrying
there, my dear.” said he, edging off a
little.
The discussion took a warmer turn
at once .—Chicago Ledger.
She Was Imposing.
Several gentlemen were standing
about the door at a swell reception
when a tine looking lady passed down
the ball.
“By Jove,” said one, “that’s a mag¬
nificent looking woman.”
••Very imposing, indeed,” said an¬
other.
“You-bet she ia,” said a third; “1
know, for I’ve been her husband for
ten years.”— Merchant Traveler.
A TALE FOR THE MARINES I |
_
The Yarn that a Guileless Old
fc ea Captain Spina.
| ; _..
J ow * Big Whale Towed a Boat's Grew
Miles to Land,
A flag With perpendicular bars of
E 1 and white floats over the roof of a
srge building in town, says a Nan¬
tucket (Mass.) letter to the New
York Sun. The building is the Cus¬
tom House, so called through tradition,
for no vessel ever enters this port from
foreign lands now, and there can be
80 customs to collect. It is conducted
by a number of superannuated old
•eft captains, who smoke all day and
weave tremendous sea yarns for the
beuefit of any city - man who may
chance along. One Weatherbeaten old
salt told a prize story lately, and now
the others are racking their brains for
something to surpass him. He said:
|“I second left Nantucket mate of the on May bark 15,1841, Anna
as snug
Snowdon, Capt Keziah Coffin, bonnd
for the Pacific Ocean. I’m not going
to tell you of our trip around the
Horn, although that was rather lively
sad we did lose two men overboard,
but will get right down to the bottom
facts of what 1 started in to tell. We
had already killed two big whales, and
were poking around about four hun¬
dred lands, miles north of the Sandwich fellow is¬
when we sighted a big
a- lowing not a mile away. The first
m te and myself put off in two boats,
bi i I had the likeliest crew, and
stluck the whale first—struck him
hafd, too, because he was spouting
bldod in five minutes. Just then we
saw another whale and the first mate
out after that one. The bark
tq beat up in our direction, but a
1 came on and we lost sight of
__ ■§ fhe big that
wav® were so we
0 :;>'!zed if we ’-ad
not kept to the leeward of the whale,
which we had killed before the squa.
struck us. Its big carcass formed a
sort of breakwater. B®id® that the
oil that oozed from its wounds seemed
to quiet the wav®. We were afraid
some big waves would throw the
whale on top of us, but by keeping the
oars going we managed to stay at a
safe distance.
“When the storm passed over not a
sign qt the bark was to be seen. There
we were anchored to a whale out in the
middle of the Pacific Ocean, with not
more than two days’ rations of bread
and water for the seven men in that
little boat. We waited all that day in
hopes of seeing the ship, and at night
we burned some blubber on the back
of the whale, but no help came. When
morning came and no sail could be
seen, we knew that there was no hope
of finding our v®sel again, and there
was nothing to do but to pull away
in the direction of the Sandwich Is¬
lands, trusting to reach them before a
violent storm should overwhelm us.
We cut our harpoons out of the whale,
because we didn't know when we
might need them. There is one of
them in the corner there now. Guid¬
ing the boat with a compass which I
always carried with me, we pulled
away for the Sandwich Islands. We
made forty miles that day, and the
men were terribly tired. We slept by
watch®, off and on, and by pulling
now and then perhaps gained ten
miles during the night. The next
day the men were worn out, and the
sun wits so hot that they could not
work their oars, Our chances of
reaching land seemed very poor.
Toward noon I was standing on the
bow of the boat looking around in
hop® of seeing a sail, when I saw a
fin-back whale come to the surface not
more than 200 yards away. It was no
use to us now, but the whaleman
instinct was too strong within me
be r®isted.
‘“Give way,’ I cried. ‘There
blows.’
“I picked up a harpoon, and as the
prow of the boat almost tonebed the
whale I drove the point deep into its
side. It failed to reach a vital point,
and away the big fellow went The
line ran out so fast at first that it made
the rail smoke, and 1 raised the hatchet
ready to cut it, for I feared the whale
wouid draw us under. But the strain
slackened after a little until there was
only a moderate pull, and giving the
end a twist around a rowlock I let the
whale tow us along.
“ ‘This is better nor rowing,’ said
ope.
•* ‘Y es, apd he's going in the right
direction,’ said another.
V. New Series. No. 39.
“They were quite right. The whale '
was taking us in the right direction
we wished to go at the rate of fully
twenty miles an hour. We bowled
along merrily all that afternoon, and
about 6 o'clock we heard a hail, and
saw, not fat away, the mate’s boat.
II • Hold on !’ they cried.
•• ‘We can’t Throw us a line,’ I re¬
plied.
“We caught their line as we swept
by, and then the whale had two boats
in tow. The men in the other boat
were worse off than we had been, as
they had pulled longer. They had
given up hope when we came along¬
side. You may not believe it, but
that whale kept straight ahead all that
night and the next day, and in the af¬
ternoon we sighted land. 11! [ht
the critter would run right the
shore, but he came about when not
more than a mile away, and would
have taken us out to sea again only I
cutthe line.
“That harpoon in the corner which
I spoke of before is the very one he
carried away with him. You can see
my name on it, if you don’t believe me.
The ship Anna Rogers of New Bed¬
ford killed the whale two years alter,
and finding the harpoon in its back
sent it to me. 1 was sorry that whale
was dead, because it had been a good
friend to us. I never used the har¬
poon again, but kept it on land as a
telle,"
-
Something About Sunstroke.
In a circular issued by the New
York board of healtli occurs the fol
lowing in regard to sunstroke:
Prevention—Don’t lose your sleep;
sleep in a cool place; don’t worry; don’t
get excited; don’t drink too much alco¬
hol; avoid working in the sun if you
can; if indoors, work in a well-ventila
eed room; wear thin clothes; wear a
light hat, not black; put a largo green
leaf or wet cloth in it; drink freely and
sweat freely; if fatigued or dizzy knock
off work, lie down in a cool place, and
apply cold water and cold cloths to your
head and neck.
Cure—Put the patient in the shade;
loosen his clothes about th<?neckjbend
for the near®t doctor; give, the patient
cool drinks of water or black tea or
black etffee, if he can swallow. If
his skin is hot and dry prop him up,
sitting against a tree or wall; pour
cold water over the body and limbs
and put on his head pounded ice
wrapped in a cloth or towel. If you
can’t get ice, use a wet cloth and keep
freshening it But if the patient is
pale and faint and his pulse is feeble,
lay him on his back, make him smell
hartshorn for a few seconds, or give
him a teaspoonsful of aromatic spirits
of ammonia or tincturo of ginger in
I wo tablespoonful of water. In this
case use no cold water, bat rub th»
hands and feet and warm them by hot
applications until the circulation is
restored.
How to Hill the Blues.
Generally speaking if you are trou¬
bled with “the blu®,” and cannot tell
why, you may be sure it springs from
physical weakness. Instead of lying
on the sofa and courting painful ideas,
if you are a despairing lover, a
hypochondriac or a valetudinarian,
you should be up and stirring yourself.
The blood of a melancholy man is
thick and slow, creeping sluggishly
through the veins, like muddy waters
in a canal; the blood of your merry
chirping philosopher is clear and
quick, brisk as a newly-broached
champagne. Try, therefore, to set
your blood in motion, Try, rather,
what a smart walk will do for you;
set your pegs in motion on rough
rocky ground, or hurry them up a
steep, cragged hill; build stone wall:
swing an axe over a pile of hickory
or rock maple; turn a grindstone; dig
ditches; practice ‘ground and lofty
tumbling;” pour water into seives
with the Danaid®, or, with Sisyphus,
“up the hill heave a huge round
stone.” in short, do anything that will
start the perspiration, and you will
soon cease to have your brains lined
with black, as Burton expr®s® it, or
to rise in the morning, as Cowper did,
“like an infernal frog out of Acheron,
crowned with the ooze and mud of
melancholy.’’— Prof. Mathews.
There is no blank so blank as the
blank that appears before a man when
he gets up in a public assembly and
forgets what he was going to spy—
unl®s it is the blank which appears
before an amateur in a skating-rink
when his legs begin to spread and
he don’t know which one to follow.
Concerning a Famous Song.
The origin of the well known song—
No one to love! none to !
Roaming alone through this world’s wilder,
ness, ft*.,
has long been the subject of dispute,
and a Washington correspondent re¬
cently gave great publicity to thef
story that it was written by a gentle¬
man who now resides in Washington.
According to the story he was in love
with a beautiful girl and the day fixed
^or their marriage. Before the broke ap- ’
(pointed time arrived the war
out and the young man enlisted. He
was on the field when his wedding day
approached. It was on the eve of »
great battle, and he wrote to his
sweetheart asking her to postpone
their marriage. This she refused to
do. The young man preferred to trust
to luck in regard to the marriage to
being considered a coward in running
away from his first battle, and he re¬
mained in the field. His lady love,
however, was so piqued at his seem¬
ing neglect that she pessisted in the
rejection of his suit and married an¬
other. Filled with gloom at bis loss
the rejected suitor is said to- have
written the melancholy song. i
A lady who lives in Burlington, N.
J. t and who is familiar with the origin
of the song, said to a Herald reporter
that it was written by George Felix
Benkert of Philadelphia. There is »
romance attached to the song which is
vouched for by several prominent cit¬
izens of Philadelphia.
George Felix Benkert was the son
of a wealthy shoe manufacturer, and
his relatives still conduct the business
in Chestnut street, Philadelphia.
Young Benkert displayed a talent for
music, and in 1855 he was sent to
Berlin to complete his education.
While studying at the German capital
he fell in love with a niece of Mme
Henrietta Son tag and was married to
her. They had ong,child, and in 185M
Benkert returned to Philadelphia with
bis family. The convulsions of the
civil war were felt, and the young
wife, fearful of a repetition of the
German rebellion, returned with her
child to Berlin despite her husband’s
protests Benkert grew dispondent
after his wife had sailed, and wrote
the song which gained such popular
favor.
During the war Benkert returned to
Germany in quest of his wife. He
sailed on the same steamer with Jen
n ? Bind, and they inaugurated Ocean
concerts by giving a benefit for the
seamen. The famous songstress was
much taken with Benkert’s song, and
upon her return to Germany had it
translated. Mrs. Benkert refused to re
turn to America and the composer died
in Philadelphia of consumption in 18f>5.
Blis widow and child are still living
in Berlin.— New York Herald.
Catching a Blue Fish.
Reader, did you ever catch a blue
fish ? A school is playing off to lee
ward, and you feel your 120 feet of
line carefully; there is a moment of
almost breathless waiting, and then,
as the fish seize the fiannel concealing
the hook, the oft-iepeated qu®tion
arises forcefully, whether a man can
pull faster than a fish can swim, for
the blue-fish usually makes a dart for
the boat at once, apparently to slacken
the line and get off. So it is easy work
for a few moments, and then com®
the tug of war; the line stretches to
its utmost, there is a startling vision
of being suddenly and ignominiously
hauled overboard, a few frantic strug¬
gles, anti a ten-pound beauty lies gasp¬
ing u. on the quarter-deck. That is
sport to make the blood rush to the
cheeks and tingle the very finger-tips.
— Outing.
The Camel Express.
Of all varieti® of Indian letter car¬
riers, clothed or unclothed, none are
so picturesque, says Mi® Gordon
Cummings, as the camel express mes¬
sengers. The men wear a serviceable
red uniform and large green turban,
embroidered with gold thread. From
their girdle hangs a curved saber iu a
red sheath. The camels are adorned
with trappings gay cloth and tas¬
sels, ornaments., with blue beads and
cowrie shells, and small brass bells
round the neck to give notice of their
swift approach. It is said that their
rough and rapid trotting, sometim®
at the rate of eighty miles a day, is so
trying to the riders as to shorten their
days. Two heavy mail bags hang to
! on side of the
camel and the saddle is so arrange!
! that 8 passenger can take a seat be
hind the-postman.