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•I
FORTY YEARS AGO.”
Drifting Sands from the Mountains
and Foot-hills of Northeast Georgia.
A Brilliant Romance Based Upon Facts.
By G. J. N. WILSON.
CHAPTER Vir.
The flight of time brought the last of Septem
ber and the close of Julius, school was at hand.
For six short mouths the young teacher had
been revelling in the sun-light of those he
loved. He Lad given entire satisfnciion us a
teacher and disciplinarian. As a teacher, he
had shown himself thoroughly acquainted with
the branches he was required to teach—as a dis
ciplinarian, he had proven himself to be just,
kind and merciful. To those indispensable
qualifications of a good instructor, he added
untiring industry, and perseverance, lie had
the love and respect of all bis pupils —from the
high-born Nelly and Coralie, to the little girl
who said her first lesson while crying for her
mother !
It was now the last day of school and Coralie
arrayed in spotless white and Nelly in amber
colo.ed silk trimmed with purest gold luce,
called forth the admiration of the crowds ot
plain honest citizens who were present on hat
day to witness the last exercises of the school.
John Montgomery, conspicuous not only for
his tall, handsome person and engaging man
ners, but for his immense wealth and liberal ea-
ucation, was there to cheer the good and awe
the bad. By Lis side sat bis wife. Mrs. Ella
Montgomery, a middle-aged lady of splendid
appearance and polished manners, Sere an
there a trace of Coralie’s beauty might be seen
fading away with the flight of lime, while a re-
fl.i of Willie’s noble form was visible in her
husband; but no resemblance of Nelly s vaned
charms, was seen in either her father or
mother. „ „
Sitting on a log in the grove was Harry Sum
merville, feeding Raino on sweet-cakes with one
hand, and smoothing down his coal black coat
of hair with the other. A trace of his sisters
beauty and complexion was visible in his ea-
tures, and while his eyes were not so intensely
brilliant, they had the same intelligent look and
coal-black color. Of heavy build and broad
cbest, he showed immense physical strength
while moral courage and firmness ot purpose
were plainly visible in his face. Strange to say,
by Harry’s side sat Horace Morone; and granger
still, that so dark a heart as his should beat be
neath an exterior so fair. He was small in per
son, but of good proportions. His air was
proud and haughty, but bis manners polite and
agreeable. His general features were good; but
a close observer could detect a vindictive spirit
lurking in bis yellowmb gray ejes, and about
the corners of his mouth were lines indicating
utter selfishness. 0 1
Whils Horace was watching Harry play with
the dog, Joe Harper came stalking along with
his hat on one side of his head, and whistling
Yankee Doodle. As he came near, Harry arose
and introduced ins ‘friend, Horace Morone, to
•Mr. Harper, a citizen of the immediate neigh
borhood." „ , , T
Horace was all smiles and politeness ; but Joe
simply placed his hat on the other side of his
heal, gave Harry’s hand a hearty shake, made
on towards the spring without saving a’™™-
•That is a strange green-horn, said Horace to
Harrv, when Joe was beyond earshot.
•Yes, replied Harry, ‘he is strange in some
particulars; bull think he means no harm by
it—it is his peculiar way of doing things. >
‘Better say, his peculiar way of being a iool,
said Horace pettishly, being nettled at Joes
oold manner towards him.
‘No,’ retorted Harry with a little warmtn, j ou
are mistaken! I have some acquaintance with
him, and I find he has a generous heart, and an
honest purposs. Though rough and untutored,
he is capable of the purest friendship, and is
said to be as brave as the untamed lion. You
see in his huge proportions and active move
ments, the in why he has that lordly step
and independent look that flashes from his
^•Yes; I say flasL! Did you notice them when
he walked away ?’ asked Horace earnestly.
‘Not particularly. Why ?’
•They turned green, and looked like they
were made of burning brimstone.
‘I know he has a penetrating, and somewhat
melancholy grey eye; but I have never observed
anything of the brimstone in it .
‘Well! you are not a very close observer; tor
I never noticed such fury written in any man’s
eyes before, and those huge muscles on his arm
jerked like those of a fresh-skinned beef.
‘You must be mistaken, Horace; for I know
all that I have said of him to be true.
•You are mistaken yourself, Harry; you surely
have forgotton that you were born and bred
difibrenilv to this rough mountaineer.
•No; I have not forgotten anything—I simpiy
remember all; and among those things tb** 1 re
member with most pleasure, are some of the
deeds of Joe Harper, to whom you nave taken
such a sudden dislike. To convince you that I
am right, I will mention one or two of them.
This section of the country is sometimes visited
by droves of wild hogs that come down from
tte neighboring mountains, whither they, when
quite young, strayed away from their owners,
and being unaccustomed to the presence ot man,
they scon become exceedingly savage andlero-
sious. They increase so rapidly that some of
them are obliged to visit the settlement to find
something to eat. Being hungry they often
prove troublesome and dangerou^ Ot the attack
made by a drove of them upon Nelly and Cora
lie, and of their heroic defense by this noble
dog, you have already heard; but not of the
part taken in it by this same Joe Harper. He
was absent from home at the time, but returned
soon after. Yon remember that they never
troubled any one after this attack—not that the
dog killed them all, but that Joe Harper did.
Within the very hour that he heard of the dan
ger to which Coralie and Nelly had been exposed,
ho shouldered his rifle, and never left the woods
until he killed the last one that could be found.
He did this in defense of two youDg girls to
whom he never spoke a word in his life, and for
whose welfare he felt no other interest than that
of common humanity. Now Horace, if you are
all that yon profess to be, you will respect Joe
highly for this reason, if lor no other; but this
is not all. Some time last spring, sister lost a
letter whioh she had received from you only the
day before. Joe happened to find if, and as
suring her that he had not read a word of its con
tents, immediately returned it to her. Such
deeds as these, added to his devoted attachment
to Julius Latrain and cousin Willie, show some
thing of the purest diamond hidden beneath a
rough exterior.’
‘Do you remember anything contained in the
lost letter ?’ Horace anxiously asked.
‘I never knew anything of its contents. Why
do you ask ?’ queried Harry.
•Nothing in particular. I only feared that
some one besides Harper saw the letter, and by
that means learned something of the relations
existing between myself and your family.’
•I do notsupDOse any one ever read it besides
B1S *Then I take back all I have said lightly about
our mutual benefactor. In fact I was jesting,
and ask pardon for my seeming offence; for a
Summerville never wounded my pride, save in
a single instance!’
‘Aud wbat was that? asked Harry, haughtily.
‘The attendance of Coralie at such a school as
this ! You cannot imagine my surprise when I
first heard of it,’answered Horace, sadly.
‘I have no apologies to make, nor any plaster
to put over the wound, farther than to say that
sister has advanced in her studies much fuster
than in any other school she ever attended; and
as for her teacher, he is not only an honor to
himself, but to the human race as well !’
•Strange things sometimes—’
The near approach of Joe on his return from
the spring out short Horace’s reply, and the
conversation ceased. When Joe had passed by
them a lew steps, he chunced to discover a smail
white string on a bush near by. With his pocket-
knife he saarpened two sticks, and stuck them
in the ground about three feet apart. Then
passing the strtng from one stick to to the other
some four or five times, he stepped off about fi;-
teen paces, drew one ol Colts reptaters from his
boot-leg, and wheeling, fired five shots at the
string in quick succession. When the smoke
cleared away, Harry and his companion saw that
the string had been cut five times by as many
bullets from Joe’s pistol. Without seeming to
notice what he had done, the marksman quietly
walked on, and left Harry and Horace in aston
ishment at his unerring aim, and in wonder at
what he meant by such an exhibition of his
skill; for they well knew that such a man as Joe
Harper never did any thing for the mere sake of
show. .
The signal for beginning the exorcises oi the
school was soon given at the house, where ali
assembled to witness the performance ot the
pupils. To show some particular attention to a
comparative straDger who Lad patronized Lis
school, the teacher nut Harry to conduct him to
a front seat. It then devolved upon the latter
to perform a duty which had been neglected on
a former occasion—the introduction ot Horace
Morone. As usual, Horace was all smiles and
politeness, but not a smile played over Julius
handsome features ! His deportment gave no
indication of his humble birth, nor that he had
not been trained according to the usages of the
best society. As seen conducting Harry and
Horace to their seats he was the impersonation
of manliness and true greatness.
A rostrum had been erected in front of the
schoolhouse door, which was surrounded by a
beautifal grove of oak trees. Beneath these,
comfortable seats had been arranged, and in a
few minutes they were filled to overflowing by
all classes of people from the surrounding coun
try. While the preliminary arrangements were
going on Harry Summerville employed himself
in taking a survey of the scenes around him.
He was strongly impressed with the contrast be
tween that and the assemblages in which he had
been accustomed to mingle ; still he was so
highly pleased t aat ha had seldom enjoyed him
self better. The rude manners and plain dress
ing of the people around him were novel, and
sometimes even amusing ; but he could read
honesty and benevolence on almost^ every face.
These traits alone are always sufficient to gain
and retain the esteem and admiration of all
minds as well balanced as was that of Harry
Summerville. So feeling himself very much at
home, he began to notice particular incidents
whioh well illustrated the character of a majority
of those present, a3 well as other things that
materially enter into the personnel of our narra
tive.
With baskets in their hands and pipes in
tbsir i*’v ,f hs. tb- t~*“ going
ibws ~ • .^i niin»~~~« r ~f
nishing them with water; nowTveriney woul
slap the children on their backs to unchoke them,
then effer them another apple, and sometimes a
cold potatoe. When all were carried through
this course of treatment, these motherly ma
trons took their seats, and adjusting their specta
cles, first looked over them to survey the crowd,
and then drawing from their ‘reticules’ a ball of
thread, pierced by ‘a pair of knitting-needles,’
they began what they called ‘putting on the
stiches.’ While thus engaged, such a counting
was heard as to show the size of almost every
man's foot in the community. t
•It takes forty stitches to a needle for Sam s
stockings,’ says one, ‘picking up a stitch that
she had dropped.
‘Alack-a-day ! my old man takes more than
that,’ says another, looking oyer her glasses.
‘Thats’ nothing, ‘ says a third one. ‘My old
man’s foot takes fifty, and he stretches ‘em so
bad at that, pulling ‘em on, that it takes seven
pair to do him a winter. Seven pair is—let me
gee—twice Beven is thir—no fourteen. So it
take3 fourteen stockings to do him in cold
weather. He goes barelegged through the hot
vou know ! I do decl^r© that th©S6 cion folks
are so bad on stockings that a body can t git to
do anything else but knit, knit, and knit all the
time. How many finger lengths do you knit
your old man’s stockings, Sally ? asked the
speaker, addressing an elderly lady sitting
near by, and who, np to this time, had been a
silent listener.
‘I knit ’em four finger-length long, answered
Sally, ‘and—
‘Gracious ! what a long legged feller, inter
rupted several voices together.
‘Yes,’ continued Sally, ‘that I do; and in the
summer the old man grumbles, and says they are
too long, and in the winter he grumbles and
says they are too short. So its’ grumble, grum
ble all the time; but I tell you, aunt Rhody, that
I’ll have my own way about it, or there‘1 be an
other fuss in the family, sartin, sure !‘
‘Yes, ‘ rejoined aunt Rhody. ‘These men
folks are mighty contrary sometimes. My old
man and the boys keeps me knitting busy all the
time too; and when I git that done I have to be
gin a-cooking, and then its—cook, cook, cook
all the time without a chance to do any thing
else, and- there ! by— I‘ve broke a needle slap
in two, and thals‘ what comes of having so much
to do. Here Sally, pick up these stitches for me
—wail! if that don't beat the Jews, yonder sets
old aunt Penny Lemon. I never seen her at a
public gathering before in all my bom days—
what upon yeth does she mean ?—I wonder if
anybody knows ?’
•Yes; there she is sure enough.* said Sally,
looking over her glasses. ‘She looks like a bran
new pin, all spruced np, though her clothes are
too coarse for them gold specks stuck on her
little peeked nose! Wonder where she got ‘em ?
—do you know, aunt Rhody ?‘
‘I s‘pose some ot them fine folks what she
goes to see so much, give ‘em to her. They say
they are mighty good and nice people, them
Montgomeries are. 1
‘Yes, they are nice, and mighty rich too. It
seems curus that aunt Penny hangs ‘round ‘em
so much, when she is as plain as a old shoe hor-
self, aud poor as Job's turkey to boot. I recken
she feels powerful stuck up. Then to cap it all
over with a dry meat-skin, there is the old man
Latrain, the nice young teacher's daddy, and as
poor as the turkey too; yet she hangs ‘round
him like she does the Montgomeries, and has
ever since she‘s been living in the country.
When the nice young teacher was a little boy,
and that starchy looking Montgomery gal was a
wee bit of a thing, she‘d walk ten mile any day
to nuss ‘em; and they say she‘s as big a fool
about ‘em now as she ever was, though the
teacher wont let her nuss him now—thats all
the difference. Aint it mighty odd, aunt
Rhody ?‘
•Yes, Sally; and to make it odder still, the
nice Montgomery gal and the teaoher are just
precisely alike. I‘ve hearn of this before; but I
only thought, they sorter favored a little. Bless
your heart though, they look just like one an
other—more so than any twins in the world, I
reckon.*
‘It does beat aDy thing, aunt Rhody ! I seen
‘em together this morning, and I do declare if
they'd been dressed alike, I d not a knowed
•em apart only by the color of their eyes. May
be, this is why aunt Penny loves ‘etn so; and
then they are so nice that nobody blames her.
D > vou aunt Rhody ?‘
■No; 1 dont, Sally. Then there is that spirit
of a looking gal dressad in white from tip to
toe. I do not believe that her or the Montgom
ery gal either is our sort of folks. I believe
they are spirits. Every thing, aDd everybody
loves ‘em. The little children cry after 'em
worse than they do after their mammas; and
the grown up boys have all run mad, and gone
crazy. I‘ve hearn some of ‘6in talking in their
sleep about how they love these gals. I‘ve
never beam the like before in all my born days.
There’s my Bill that comes here to school with
em, and he says as how be has seen little birds
come and light on their shoulders, and set there
and sing away just like they do in the tree-tops;
but shorely Bill must be mistaken. Don‘t you
8‘pose he is, Sally ?‘ •
•No; I reckon not, aunt Rhody. My old man
would hardly tell a lie about ‘em. He come
here last spring to heipjjx about, the honse, and
what do you think he told me when he came
home ? Why he said these two R als come to the
spring where he was eating dinner, with
bunches of flowers in their hands, and he seen
with his own eyes little homiDg-birds come and
suck the flowers while in the g-.l-s hands just
like they was on a rose bush iu the garden. Such
like was never seen before iiial! (he whole world.
Wts there, aunt Rhody ?‘
‘No, Sallie, there never was. Bill a—must
have told me the truth shore enough. He’s a
mighty good boy. Bill island now I know these
gals are not human folks, but fearies, or faires,
or something that pounds that way, which my
mamma used to tell me about when I was a lit
tle gal.’
Thump ! thump ! ba—rum ! went a huge bass
drum—squeak ! squeak ! went four or five vio
lins-all conversation ceased—down went the
knitting—up went the curtains that hurg round
the stage, and a strain of music, led by Joe Har
per, to the air ‘Over the Hills and Far Away,’
burst upon the eais of the ussembly. If not fine
and artistic, it was rich, full and sonorous, and
a fit introduction to the scoTTbs that were soon to
follow.
Instead of listening to the music, however,
Harry Summerville continued his survey of the
scenes around him. Penny Lemon, with whom
he had become well acquainted at his uncle's
house, still held her soldier-like position, head
erect, eyes to the front, and seemingly uncon
scious of everything about her 1 Her dress was
exceedingly plain, but its tit and general make
up were in good style. Her features were good,
and to a close observer, gave unmistakable evi
dence of superior intelligence, though she made
no pretensions to it, either in conversation or
otherwise. Though verging on to the meridian
of life, her hair was deep black, and her face al
most free from the foot-prints of time. She had
evidently seen better days, and beneath her
modest and unpretending appearance, the crit
ical observer could discover a degree of refine
ment consistent with her intelligent look, but
wholly at variance with her position in life and
the shade of melancholy that found a hiding-
place iu her small, black eyes. All in all, she
was a mystery to those who knew her—a being
who seemed to be one by herself, anrLt&.have
hoggin vjj}' P"
V ^3 !SdpJ(! A^ur-GyV * “J '
ar,
'nT'aMP^y-the' Seal aitf'ttga’vy-osdJ -js.-Nn *
few really loved, none aespised, Harry s wan
deriDg eyes fell upon the tall, athletic form of
Calveda, the teacher’s Indian friend. He was
sitting on a bench a little distant from the
whites, not, however, as a matter of choice or
necessity on the score of race, for he was a wel
come guest any where in that community. His
entire appearance was that of one born to com
mand, and his large, yellowish-gray eyes spark
led with fire and animation as they constantly
glanced from one object to another. In every
lineament of his features, the unmistakable
characteristics of his race were plainly written,
and his fine proportions and well-knit frame be
tokened almost unknown physical power. There
was nothing about him repulsive, except, per
haps, the close compression of his lips showed
a tenacity of purpose which, whether right or
wrong, was always unyielding—that his life was
for his friends—that death was the allotted por
tion ot his enemies.
At Calveda’s side, and slightly leaning upon
his giant form, was another figure of whom Har
ry had heard much, but never before had seen.
It was Olura Sundown, the Indian’s only
daughter, who, until recently, had been long ab
sent with -her lather on an extended traveling
tour. Judging from her appearance, she was
about sixteen years old, of medium size and in
form almost perfection. Her complexion was
nearly that of a light biunette, and made intense
ly beautiful by the deep crimson glow that ap
peared, as it under a glass, beneath the outer
coloring. Her features were regular and ex
quisitely feminine, and her teeth had the ap
pearance of a row of pearls set by the most ele
gant workman. Her long, slightly dark hair,
without a wave in it, fell in luxuriant profusion
over her well rounded sho alders, and from
thence parted into graceful rolls and rested up
on the ground. But the crowning glory of this
Indian maiden was her eyes. In color, they
were only a shade darker than her father’s; but
muoh smaller, and more expressive. Modesty
and cheerfulness were so plainly written in
them, that they seemed to almost speak the
words. The ringing laugh and bounding leap
could almost be seen and heard in their playful
dancing, while firmness and courage were as
plainly spoken by the well-knit brows that arch
ed over and met between them. Her dress was
of leaf-brown alpaca trimmed with crimson, and
having passed through the skillful hands of Mrs.
Montgomery, had no appearance of the costume
worn by her dusky sisters in their native woods.
Her jaunty little straw bat, woven by her own
hands, lay on the ground at her side—the orig
inal of the since universally worn “sundown.”
Though, perhaps, a little inconvenient, it is to
be regretted that this popular style of ladies’
hats does not bear all the name of this pure and
beautiful Indian girl—“Olura Snndown.”
This faint and imperfect outline of her person
al appearance was taken at a glance by the cul
tivated eye of Harry Summerville, whioh, added
to the good character that he had often heard at
tributed to her, made a lasting impression upon
his mind.
The music ceased, and with a sigh Harry
turned his eyes from the enchanting flower that
grew in a soil where he dared not tread, and
placed them npon the speaker, a pert little boy
who had just appeared to deliver the Salutatory
of the day. From this the exercises went on,
alternating between success and failure until
the day was waning to its close. Written pro
grammes had been distributed, and all the
pieces were marked except the last two. It
alone remained for the teacher to announce these
in their order. Sadly, almost painfully, he
arose and called out:
“THE LAST jay OF SCHOOL.”
An Origiral Composition.
%
MISS NELL® MONTGOMERY.
E/ery thing was sibnt, aud all eyes were turn
ed toward the door trough which the reader
was to make her appiaranoe. Joe Harper un
strung his fiddle, laid it and his bow on the floor,
and leaning forward, rested his head on the
palm of his hands. A slight rustle was heard,
and Nelly Montgomery stood before the gazing
multitude. A low murmur of applause ran
through the crowded audience, and then all
were silent again to hear the first word uttered
by her whose personal charms, social position,
and wonderful resemblance to rh6 teacher, en
chained the mind of every beholder. She read
with inimitable grace, ease, and elegance, dwel
ling first on life as she had spent it with her
classmates, and then on the pleasures and bene
fits that all had enjoyed while journeying on to
the day when they were to separate, perhaps
never to meet again. Her comparison between
the ‘last day of school,’and the near and cer
tain approach of the ‘last day of life* was touch
ing in the extreme, and brought forth many a
heartfelt sigh as the beautiful reader disappear
ed behind the curtain.
Again silence reigned. J09 Harper’s violin
was still unstrung, and though ‘music’ was next
in order, no instrument made a single note.
Not even a passing zephyr played among the
fading leaves of autumn;but ali eyes were again
turned expectant towards the door through
which the last reader had just passed frem view.
The silence was broken by the teacher, who,as if
to receive his death sentencs, arose and made
the final announcement:
‘Farewell:
.4/1 original composition,
By
Miss Coralie Summerville.
Like some ideal phantom gliding through the
moonlight ‘the White Angel,* stood before the
staring audience. ‘How beautiful, how beauti
ful!’ arose from the admiring throng.
Her graceful movements, her elegant form,
her beautiful face, her musical voice, and the
unearthly appearance of her dress, all combined
to make her one of the most lovely objects that
ever elicited the admiration of any audience.
Like Nelly’s, her reading was good, and free
from all affectation and restraint. After review
ing some of the most important events in real
life, and showing how they had passed away,
she touchingly referred to h6r own career in
school—to the many pleasant hours she had
spent with her class-to the sorrow she felt at
the near approach of the time when she must
bid them all farewell, perhaps forever, after
which sbe proceeded to point out tbe glorious
reward ot the finally faithful in a land where
there will be no farewells spoken.
‘And now,' she said in conclusion, ‘with the
pleasing hope that we may all meet again in
that home of the good, I bid my faithful teacher
and affectionate classmates, a long, sad farewell.’
As Coralie slowly uttered the last words, she
gracefully waved her right hand towards the
congregation, and then disappeared behind the
curtains leaving the audience in that frame of
mind in which the lost traveler finds himself
when on the near approach of darkness, a flam
ing meteor, having sparkled for a moment, dartB
across the Northern sky, goes out in gloom, and
leaves only the remembrance of its lurid path
upon the wondering mind.
The general impression made upon the audi
ence by the reading of these two compositions
was such as to charm not only the plain inhabi
tants of North East Georgia, but those of culti
vated and refined circles as well. All of the
beautiful that the most exacting could require
was fully seen in their personal appearance, and
all of the grace, ease, and elegance that the most
refined could desire, was fully displayed in their
performances, and so won upon the admiration
of those present at the time, that it is to this day
-- ^: r r»M tho . fir * sides
* ‘00f llpf
and sumewiiu. etteot. lhe
wild exclamations of ‘Sally,’ and her talkative
companion, ‘Aunt Phody, ‘ were readily under
stood; but the deep emotion of Mrs. Louion was
strange and unaccountable, particularly so, as
she was unable to control herself while Nelly
was reading. All attributed the conduct of Joe
Harper to a mere love of being ‘odd from any
body else,’ and dreamed not of the consuming
love he had for one of the fair performers, which
caused his instrument to be unstrung at his feet.
From the very reasonableness of the idea, Julius
Latrain was supposed to be in love with Cora
lie or Nelly; but his overpowering sadness was
g9nerally attributed to effects produced by the
close of his school, to which he was known to be
devotedly attached; but why Olura Sundown,
the beautiful Indian girl, should rise to her feet
only when Coralie appeared upon the stage, and
after giving her a long look, knelt at her fath
er’s side and wept bitterly, no one could under
stand!
The sun had already reached far down the
western sky, and with the long shadows of eve
ning the light of the teacher was passing away—
school was closed, and those he so well loved
would meet him there no more. All his pupils,
excepting only one, he fondly hoped to meet fre
quently—that one was Coralie Snmmeiville. who
iu a few more days would bo in her far-off home
in the Crescent City. Her gladsome laugh, her
gentle step, her beaming smile must, with that
evening’s sun pass away from the dear old hills,
perhaps forever!
Slowly the congregation began to disperse.
Side by side Nelly and Coralie advanced to bid
their teacher good-bye. He covered his face with
a handkerchief and extended his hand; but was
unable to speak a single word. To make the
scene still more effecting, Raino trotted up, and
looking his master in the faoe, seemed to ask:
‘Must I go with them this evening? 1
Julius shook his head and pointed to a car
riage that stood in waiting. The faithful dog
seemed to understand that his services were no
longer needed, and so quietly laid down at his
master’s feet. The girls patted him on the head
with one hand, and extended to him the other.
He held out his huge paw, and with tears in
their eyes they took it as when parting from a
dear friend. Thus they parted with the hero,
who, at the risk of his own life had saved theirs.
Coralie rode away at the side of Horace Mo
rone, and Julius Latrain gave her up forever.
‘I suffer,’ said he to himself; ‘but I will be a
man and suffer in silence.’
That night he spent in sleepless agony. The
hours lengthened into days as one by one tney
slowly passed away. Weary and worn he wel
comed the coming morning. With it the sun
mounted into a cloudless sky; but all natnie
se-med to be veiled in mourning. The wind
sighed sadly turough the distant tree-tops, and
the rustling leaves, as one by one they came
trembling to the ground, seemed to be warning
all nature of its final doom. Loneliness and
desolation brooded over all earthly forms, and
the dim sunshine, as it shone through its smoky
veil, partook of the lonely boy’s sorrow and sad
ness.
(To be Continued.)
A package in a basket was left on the door
step of a cautious Newport woman, who having
no desire to adopt a foundling, took the basket
to the police station, and there found that it
contained a twenty-pound turkey.
‘Why, Charles,’flhe exclaimed in great sur
prise, ‘are you chewing tobacco !’ And Charles
lapped the quid carefully under his tongue, and
replied: ‘Why.no, dear; I’ve been out a good
deal to-day and my teeth got badly sunburnt.’
A lady of experience observes that a good way
to pick out a husband is to see how patiently
the man waits for dinner when it is behind
time. Her hnsband remarks that a good way
to pick out a wife is to see whether the woman
has dinner ready in time.
MUt ami Humor.
Studying medecine—The average small boy med
itating upon taking a dose of oil.
Blessed is the man who loveth his wife's rela
tions; and not only blessed, but also scarce.
The Nation wisely says: Financially, a tramp is
centless; aromatically, he is quite otherwise.
A clock is tlie only thing that can run on “tick,”
and give satisfaction to itself and everyone else.
It is now thought that the amount of pin money
required by the married woman depends upon
whether she uses diamond pins or rolling pins.
Now the winds that softly breathe, and the flow
ers that garlands wreathe, a gentle hint of summer
in the mind implants; and so does the beetles, and
the spiders and the aunts.
That was a neat hull one of our clergymen perne-
trated in his sermon the other day. Speaking of
Bunyan in prison, he said: “No one but his blind
daughter ever went to see him.”
We should like to kiss the sweet little creature who
said that Are flies were made by God to “yite ze
,ittie froggies to bed.” If she is seventeen years
old, bring her around all the same.
Two California sharps were playing a game of
cards. “It is very singular/’ observed one, “that I
haven’t seen a king yet.” “Not at all,” replied the
other, “you have one in your sleeve, and I have the
other three in my boot.”
The girl who “hates oysters” at home, is always
at a church festival, with her l/oss appetite in read
iness, and an earnest desire to tackle anything
for the good of the cause and the young man who
parts his hair in the middle.
If a small boy slides down a flight of stairs on his
head, a little piece of candy will generally cure him;
but just let his mother waft her old slipper across
the base of his trousers for the space of a second, and
there is not enough balm iu Gilead to soothe the
agitation.
A bald-headed old chap of Balligomingo
Said: “These blonde troupes should be stopped, by
Jingo!”
When the show came around
On the front seat was found
The transparent old fraud of Balligomingo.
“Aren’t you rather too old to ride for half price?’>
seid a ticket clerk to the eldest of two boys. “Well ”
remarked the youth, “I am under fourteen, and
this boy with me is under six. That don’t m ike
twenty, and you will take two boys under ten for
half each.” He took them.
There is a pocket telephone stretched across from
the house of a young man in this town to the win
dow of liis sweetheart, just opposite. They are to
be married soon, and it is a touchings'ght to watch
the little sparrows perch on the string and peck at
the taffy as it slides alODg.
We don’t object to young people extracting all
the pleasure possible as they journey through life.
But _> ouug men with six dollar salaries can’t be ex.
pected to attend more than three (lances a week,
and have much money left to put in the contribu
tion box Sunday morning.
“And Moses was an austere man,” read the min
ister from the bi hie. “Dar now, you dun hear dat,
Sam? Lie Scriptures say dat Moses was an oyster-
man, aud you dun flung at me dat sellin' oysters
wasn’t a ’spectable bizziness. If it’s good enough for
Moses, it’s ’spectable enough for me.
A nephew (in Normandy, of course) assists at the
reading of his uncle's will. “And to the servant
who shall close my eyes, I will and bequeath,” read
> •» ” «a.v. <»hoshall close my eyes?’ ’
asked the heir at law. “It does.” “Then the will
is void. The old cuss had only one eye.”
A Frenchman lias found that sawdust dried and
sifted clear of t lie larger particles is a better article
than hair to use in mortar for the purpose of keep
ing it from peeling off. It may do for mortar, but
sawdust will never take the place of hair in butter
for the purpose of making it go a great way.
“Yes,” said the witness, “I do remember the de
fendant's mother crying on the occasion referred to
She was crying with her left eye—the only one she
has—and the tears were running down her ri^ht
cheek.'’ “What!” exclaimed the judge, “how could
that be? - ’ “If your honor please,” said tbe witness,
“she v as awful cross-eyed.”
“Will you love me thus forever?”
And she looked into his eyes
With a glance that seemed a token
Of the fervor of her sighs.
‘‘I wudn't guaranty it,”
With a smile responded Pat.
“For I'm hardly av the notion
That I'll last as long as that.”
A farmer, having buried his wife, waited upon tli3
grave-digger wiio had performed tbe necessary du
ties, to pay him his fees. Being of niggardly dispo
sition, he endeavored to get the knight of the spade
to abate his charges. The patience of the latter be
coming exhausted, ho grasped his shovel, impul
sively, and with an angry look, exclaimed: “Dooa
wi' another shillin’—or oop she eomesl” The threat
had the desired affect.
Tell you one thing, brethren, and it’s money in
your pockets if you remember it; never lend a dol
lar to the man who habitually and frequently
prints “whilst” in his paper. He is as unreliable
as the man who says “Chewsday.”
“Jack," said Mrs. W—, “what smell is that?”
“Cloves.”
“But that other smell?”
“Allspice.”
“But isn’t there another?”
“Yes—apples.”
“J ust one more?”
“Cider, my dear.”
“Well, Jack,” said she,“ifyou'd only drink a lit
tle brandy now, you would make a good mince
pie.”
Detroit Free Press: One of the oraDge sellers on
Campus Martin yesterday found a bad specimen
among his fruit and carelessly tossed it away. I 1
struck an old woman in the eye, and .'-he made such
a fuss over the accident that the man gave her a
dozen good oranges to get her away in peace. She
had scarcely left, when a sharp looking boy about
twelve years of age slid to the fruit-seller and said:
“Say, are you going to hit any more old women
to-day?”
“why, no—not if I can help it,” was the reply.
“If you are,give me a chance,” continued the lad.
“I’ll bring my mother down here and you may hit
her in both eyes for half the oranges you gave tha
other woman, and if that isn’t fair you can have a
shot at dad and me.”
Iu the city of Halifax there dwelt a lawyer, crafty,
subtle and cute as a fox. An Indian of the Miami
tribe, named Simon, owed him some money. The
poor red man brought the money to his creditor,
and waited, expecting the lawyer to write him a re
ceipt:
“What arc you waiting for?” said the lawyer.
“Receipt,” said the Indian.
“A receipt,” said the lawyer, “what do you know
about a receipt? Can you understand the nature of
a receipt? Tell me the use of one and I will give it
to you/’
The Indian looked at him a moment and then he
said:
“’Spose maybe die; me go to heben: me find gate
locked; me see the 'postle Peter; be say, Simon wha*
you want? Me want to get in. He say you pay Mr.
J. dat money? What me do? me hab to hunt all
ober h 1 to find you.”
He got the receipt.