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THE
I DOUBT IT.
When a pair of red Ups are upturned to your
own,
With no one to gossip it,
Doyou pray for endurance to let them alone?
Well, maybe vou do—but I doubt it.
When a sly little hand you’re permitted to seize,
With a velvety softness about it,
Doyou thiuk you can drop it with never a
squeeze?
Well, maybe you can—bnt I doubt it.
When a. tapering waist is in reach of your arm,
With a wonderful plumpness about ft.
Do you argue the point ’twixt the good and the
harm?
WeU, maybe you do—but I doubt it.
And if by these tricks you should capture a
heart,
With a womanly sweetness about it.
Will you guard it, and keep it and act the good
part?
Weil, maybe you will—but I doubt it.
—THE—
JERKUM FAMILY;
— Oil —
Lai and tie _Pobjob Jndp.
By J. K MUSICK.
CHAl’TLR XI.
“This world has some very curious things hap
penin’ in it just now,” solilfoquized Uncle Jerry
as he rested one foot on the hub of his buggy,
his elbow on his knee and his chin in the palm
of his hand. "This world lias had some very cu
rious tilings happenin'in if for some time past;
but ot all the tilings, this abductiu’ business gits
away with me the most. 1 declare, ef 1 wasn't
a deck in. I'd become profane when 1 met that
feller Barker.”
lie had just partaken of his breakfast, and
Charley was crunching his corn in a trough near
by. Tlie old gentleman was waitingfor his horse
to complete his breakfast before starting for
somewhere, and lie did uot know where.
“That gal has got to be found. I guess that
young feller Waters is doin’ all he can; but
young fellers in love lievn’t much sense at most,
and 1 s'pose he hasn’t any now.”
The old man paused iu his solilloquv, for he
heard the tramp of horse’s hoofs. Looking up,
he was surprised to see Simon Kenyon.
“Wliy, Simon, what on earth brought yon
here?”
“Bally did,” responded Simon, dismounting.
“1 had no idea you would be here so soon.
What business?”
“I had to borrow some money to pay off that
Judgment, an’ Jippy Jerkum’s stealin’ besides;
so 1 came bac« to-day to pay it, and I thought
I’d jlst drap around and see how you an’ Har
riet an’ Agnes an’ all were. 1 didn’t know but
some o’ ye would want some fightiu’ done. I’d
like fo Jist git one whack at that ar Jippy Jerk-
nrn, anyway.”
“We don’t want any fighting done now.”
“What, then?”
“Hunting.”
“Who?—what?”
“Agnes.”
“Is she lost?”
The old man then proceeded to relate all that
he knew of the abduction. Simon was aroused
to his utmost, and declared himself willing and
ready to do anything for the recovery of the
missing girl. ....... , . • .
“What are you goln’ to do first?” he asked of
Uncle Jernr. „ , , .
“I aiu coin’ to see Harman Parker, be he man
or devil.” , „ ., .
“I’ll foller ye, ef ye lead through fire and brim
stone.” . .
Simon fed his horse, and, while he was eat
ing, Uncle Jerry harnessed Charley to the buggy,
and the two men got in and drove over to the
elegant mansion now occupied by Harman 1 ar-
ker, but to which he had no just title.
“Is Mr. Parker in?” asked Uncle Jerry of a
sore-eyed servant girl, who came to the door in
answer to their l ing.
“Yes, sir, he's in the parlor.
“Tell him some un wants to see him.”
The girl disappeared, and a moment later
came with the instruction for them to walk in.
They did so, and found Mr. Harman Parker
seated in dressing gown and slippers, at a table
on which were some account books and papers.
“Good moniin’, sir,” said Uncle Jerry, laying
his broad brimmed hat on the floor and taking a
seat beside it. , ... , . , . .
Simon, unbidden, occupied the chair Just be
hind his master. . . TT
“Good morning, gentlemen,” answered Har
man stiffly. “To whom am X indebted for this
visit 7’*
“Me, I guess,” replied Uncle Jernr.
“Aye, that is intelligible. Pray be so kind as
to iuiorm me who you are.”
“I sir, am Jeremiah Thomas, the owner of
Mulberry Farm. This man is Simon Kenyan,
m "Wefl, gentlemen,” said Mr. Parker in his
I will, mister, cos I kinder like ye, and I
more than like the young leddy,” said the small
queer boy, rubbing one dirty brown hand over
his dirty brown face and taking another cau
tious look about him. “Ye see I was out in the
woods yesterday mornin’ and I seed Miss Nel
son goin’ along the road. She had a book an’
some papers rolled up, an’ her parasol. I thort
she looked orful purty. Well, I went on nickin’
up sticks, an’ d’reckly I sees Harman Parker
cornin’ along m a two-norse buggy drivin’ like
mad. He was goin’ along the road right after
Miss Nelson. He was wliippin’ them big greys
o’ his almost to a run. I worked on until nearly
two in the arteruoon, an’ he come back, them
greys lookin’ like they’d run a hundred miles.
They couldu t hold up their heads.”
“Do you know which way he had been?”
asked Uncle Jerry
“Yes, X went down the road and saw where
his buggy tracks run along It. I saw, too, where
horses had stopped, for the buggy run back'ard
an’ for’red an' sideways, an’ the horses had
stomped, as you know horses will when they
want to go; aud right there, mister, was Miss
Nelson’s track a coinin' from the roadside to the
buggy. I fullered the buggy on mitil 1 came to
that ar’ old blind road what leads to Hardscrab
ble an’ Augm town, there lie turned down that,
an’ the horses wuz a goin’ at a dead run.”
“flow do you know they were running, boy?”
asked Uncle Jerry. , ,
"Why the steps was fifteen foot apart, an’ the
toes o’ the horses’ shoes cut down in the groun'
three or lour inches; but the tracks coinin’ back
showed lie come back in ruther a moderate
S '”By jemany, there's somethin’ in this.” said
Uncle Jerry. “You are a smart boy. What is
your name’.'”
“Timber,” was the reply.
“Timber? what a curious name. Who's yer
father?”
“Never had any.”
“Who’s your motliei*?”
“Never had any.” ,
“That's strange.” said the old man shaking
his head knowingly. “Children are sometimes
born uow-a-days without a father, but this is the
first I ever knew who hadn’t the aid of a moth
er. Who raised you?”
“First one person air then another.”
“Where do you live?”
“About in spots,” answered the small queer
boy, with a grin.
"Boy, you are a little too sharp, said the old
man, a little offended.
Ye mean, I’m up to snuff.”
Good Lu’d, child, 1 hope you don’t take that
horrible stuff, though you look brown and dirty
enough to be made o’ it.”
What kind o’ taffy are ye givin’ me, old
gent,” said the small queer boy, with another
comical arm.
“Oh, bless my soul, what an Arab, no, monkey
he is. lie's using more slang than 1 eveX hear
of before,” said Uncle Jerry. “Well, boy, who
do you stay with now?”
“Old Granny Kitchen.”
“Is she good to you?”
“Well, you’re a ruin ’un,” said the small queer
boy, with another comical grin. “She allows me
to sleep in her house ou a pile o’ straw. 1 work
out ou the streets iu the day time, aud eat such
scraps as 1 kin pick up.”
n;
lived with Granny
T SOUTH.
house it was a castle. \
In the yard round about it were the .
beautiful flowers, evergreens and shruU
eyes had ever beheld. It was night, but ?
rlous full moon, shining from an uiicloudeu
made the earth radiant with floods of golden
light.
Thi
' “Yuli might do a good deal, but 1 expect it’s
Te ^fflormC whit you want me to do. and I
will then determine whether I have either power
0r “Oue“uiVng I wish you would do that you
won't, is to restore all the money and property
you stole from your dead brother s family to
“That’s a strong accusation to make.” said
Parker, his face growing dark aud Ins eyes mur-
^‘But'l didn't come to see you about that.”
“Then what is it? Go on; 111 try to endure
**•^1 want you*to‘restore Agnes Nelson to her
““What?” and his face grew ten times more
black and his eve ten times more devilish. I
know nothing about Agnes Nelson. Who says
ldo? They lie! they lie! ’
“lsiv ye do.” said Simon coolly, arising and
annroacliiiig Mr. Parker. “I say ye do; now
call me a liar, ef ye please,” and he displayed a
fist like a battering ram. Tor
“Sit d«»wi), Simon, sit down, said Uncle Jer
ry, pushing him lightly to liis clmir.
“1 know nothing about Agnes .Nelson, said
P “Are'you quite sure o’ that?” asked .Uncle
Jerry.
“Tbere'is^no'use in foolin’ longer about it,
TTirmm Parker; you know where the gal is.
Kf ye didn't hev a hand in carryiu’ her oil, ye
know where she is.” ^
“Is l it U not 1 indiigh^Harman Parker that you
should rob the family «d your dead liidf hrolher
without dragging ins only child aw-iy from her
mother and the poor little home left cm?
“1 do not know where she is, nor would I tell
y “’l j nila^partof'what ye said is true, hut U.e
^Believe’what you please, sir. I am ready to
show you both to the door as soon as youi over
come your impudence enough to leave my
^“•Harman Parker you know where Agnes Nel-
son ’"said Uncle Jerry rising “now tell me
where 1 van liud her, or 111 lind some means
^ 0 “l'liav(Mio more to say to either of you,
out of my house.” n
imp
“How long have you
Kitchen?” . .
The small queer boy laughed until tears
started in his eyes.
-Why, old gent, ye seem to tumble to me,’ he
said.
“I do not know what that means.
“Well, as ye seem to he interested in my 1ns-
t’ry, I’ll give a smatter o’ all 1 know about my
self. Ye see, I was found—wuzen’t born at all—
jest found in the timber, by oldGrandy Kitchen.
She was then, as now. so poor she couldn’t take
care o’ a suckin’ chicken, an’ sent me to the
poor house, where I staid until 1 wuz old
enough to skip. 1 did it at six, an’ hev since
been livin’ about in spots, as I told ye.”
• Yours is a strange history, hoy, but I haven t
time to hear more of it. Here, ’ and he took
from his pocket, half a dollar and gave to the
boy, “take this and buy yourself a decent cap.
“1 don’t want mullin', sir, fur doin right,
said the boy, returning the money.
"No, no. bov, I am not givin’ you that to pay
you, but I make you a present of it,” said Uncle
J< "Then it’s all hunkey,” said tlie boy. “Good
bye, mister, 1 kinder like ye,” and thrusting the
money in one pocket of his ragged trowsers, he
ran away whistling some air between the
“Rogue’s March” and "Highland X-ling,” with
self-constituted variations.
"I've got a clew, Simon,” said Uncle Jerry, as
he approached the farmer, who stood holding
the horses.
•What is it?” asked Simon.
Uncle Jerry then proceeded to relate what he
had learned from the hoy.
"Thar s somethin’ in that,” said Simon, shak
ing his head when Uncle Jerry had completed.
“That's a sharp boy an’ it may be ve couldu t
do better than to employ him to help us.”
"We’ll see about it after a hit,” said the old
mail. “Now for the present, you want yer hoss
an’go hack to the farm. Thar tell the old wo
man where I’m gone, an’ what fur, an' ye'd bet
ter stay thar until I come back. 1 kin find the
gal myself, I reckon.” . ,
"Wliat!” said Simon, opening his mouth and
eyes to their widest extent; "ain’t ye goin' to let
me hev no hand in this 'ere business? Some’uu
may hey to beJieked ajjore^’ye git tlir^u^li.”, ^
•’ No, iH)?siiiiou,” ansvvei?d' Untie Jerry wlin
one of his quiet smiles; there’ll be no fighting.
All we've got to do is to Hud out where the gal is
confined, an* then git a writ of habeas corpus,
aud let tlie officers of the law bring her away.
“Ef I knew wharslie was, here’s a hocus poeus
what’d bring her away,” and Simon displayed
his brawny arm with a fist like a battering rani.
“We will not hev to resort to that, Simon,
said Uncle Jerry; at least, I hope not. But go
on like a good fellow; you may come after me il
you li-e, though I hardly think it necessary.
Muttering something about not being far be
hind, Simon mounted liis horse and rode away
toward Mulberry farm at a gallop.
Uncle Jerry went In the house to see Mrs. Nel
son again, and give her the latest information lie
had concerning her daughter. After telling her
to he comforted, that lie would bring Agnes
back soon, he went out to bis buggy,
climbed in, and turning his hoi se in the directum
of tlie Hardscrabble road, drove away at a lively
The day was fair, the roads in excellent condi
tion, aud the old man’s sorrel horse made good
Uncle Jerry gazed carelessly about over the
fields of waving corn on each side of the road, or
meadows sweet with new-mown liay. buch
scenes are always delightful in a farmer, but the
old gentleman look 111 tie interest in them now.
liis litile Agnes whom lie loved so dearly was in
•aidiiily, and liis mind was taken up with the
tilin g,it ol how she conid be released.
lie dwelt only on tlie pale-faced mother at
home, and the suffering tin- l.oor captive must
endure. He lashed his sorrel horse into a good
trol and tlie dust rolled in clouds from tlie
W Sugl. hiS fann d hi..<ls, wood lands across
streams spanned with strong iron hi ldges. the
determined old man continued ins course. Noon
came and passed, still he halted not for dinner
or rest, hut on, on, and on the stout old sonel
horse lodged, and round and round the wheels of
liis npeu'buggy rolled, sending clouds of dust far
behind.
CHAPTER XIII.
It was growing late when tlie old man. covered
with dusi drove into the village uniquely named
Hardscrabble. Itconsisted ot three or lour hun
dred houses, a few brick store buildings, a ho
tel blacksmith-shop, etc. There was a square,
ou ' iheie usually is in all Western villages,
around which tlie principal part of the houses
were clustered. Southwest of the_yillage was a
air was burdened with the 8101“ \ of
choice flowers. All around the strong stone
castle and court, were walks of snow white peb
bles. It seemed like a fairy world without, and
the old gentleman naturally felt desirous of In
vestigating the interior of tuls magnificent piece
of aucieut architecture. , . . .
The front door he found closed and of iron,
and there seemed no other mode of ingress.
As he was walking to the rear on his explora
tion, he glanced up at one of the windows, and
there he saw a beautiful lady, young and fair.
She was sitting at the iron-barred window weep
ing. In her haud she held a beautiful fan lror-
dered with gold, and beckoned him to appro ;h
her. Wondering why she could weep smiM a
scenery so beautiful and grand, the old i<an
walked under her window. ...
• I am a captive.” said the fair lady, sobbing
bitterly. “I have been brought to this castle
aud confined by a cruel man, and here I am
doomed to die of starvation unless you will res
cue me from this place.”
“I cannot rescue you lady, said the old man.
“The only door 1 find to the castle is locked and
I cannot get in. Even it 1 had a ladder your
windows are barred with iron.”
“I have a key that will open the door,’ she
answered joyfully. . „ , , .
••Then why not let yourself out? lie asked.
“It will only unlock .he door from tlie out
side,” was tlie reply, and she threw linn a large
kev of brass. “When unlocked tlie door will
Hy open and you will see a winding stair which
leads from ilie trout entrance to the door of my
room. When you reach that you will miu «i
brass knob, which if pressed upon that door will
open aiso.” ,, _ .
Uncle Jerry lucked up the large brass key,
and going to tlie front door applied it. When
the kev was turned tlie door Hew onen, reveal
ing tlie winding stair described hy the fair pris-
011 This he followed as directed and arrived at
the door of the prisoner’s room. He observed
that as lie passed each door it closed.
Pressing (lie knob this door flew open, and
the old gentleman walsed into the lady’s pres
ence; the door imnieuiately closing.
The fair lady smiled and her tears disappear-
Cil.
“Come, the way is clear,” said the old gentle-
Sh'e extended her hand and took his. The
hand was hard and cold as fingers of stone. As
his eyes fell upon the hand large black spots
grew on it. . ... ,
The lady grasped his hand with a vice-like
grii>, and instantly she was changed to a demon,
her fan became a gleaming sword. 't
“Ha, ha, ha!” laughed the demon, in tones of
thunder that shook the castle to its very centre.
“I have lured thee, fool, to thy own destruction.
Now die!” . .. ..
Uncle Jerry crouched in terror beneath the
gleaming sword that was held above his head.
Tlie demon stamped his foot upon the floor,
which gave way and he fell down—down—down
—until he awoke.
Tlie old man had fallen from his chair and his
Simon was mistaken here. Jippy had too
mch regard for his personal safety to even be
'accessory In such an enterprise.
night, but 5 It being late. Uncle Jerry and Simon retired to
■ ’ i. Svj; the ted room set apart for the former, and, bolt-
re door, were soon in the land of dreams.
[TO BE CONTINUED.]
pipe was broken.
He an
OUR HOUSEHOLD.
Home Matter*, Ppicy Letters,
Domestic Hiatt. Ktc.
’Mid pleasure* and palace* though we may roam.
Be it ever so humble, there’* no place like home.
"let ine at him,” said Simon, rising to his wrlcv „ lo , v .— — ...
feet nulling up liis coat sleeves aud shading lna extending quite up to it. There was a
S5&. '"Let meat hnn and i’ll share llouto him, ve o( tre e S down in the the roof of.a
.... . .. . ».z.. /Ant »• r ......i<i Hu kppii :imoiiir tlie.in. for sonic
° r u nc lejerry caught Simon and pushed him to
the door, or he would have struck Parker from
h As'Jhey weTe getting in the buggy they heard
some hot oaths and deep threats lroin Harman
Parkers room. Uncle Jerry knowing that
nothing could be obtained from him, restrained
tlie angry Simon, who still had desires to shake
his liver, and drove rapidly back to the village.
CHAPTER XII.
“Something’s got to be done at once,” said
Uncle Jerry as they drew up iu front of tlie
humble collage of Harriet Nelson. * 1 tliiuic
{muse could be seen among them For some
reason Uncle Jerry could not tell, there was
something suspicious about tlie house which re
tired so shyly among tlie trees.
“I will explore it as soon as morning comes,”
the old man said as he drew up in front of Uie
,U The stable hoy, with dirty face and shock-red
hair came out to take charge of the lioi sc.
“Put him up, water and feed him well, said
Uncle Jerry, “for he has had a hard day s
tr “Yee's, znr, feed ’im wejl,” replied the stable
b °|l\e T.id n geiiUemai!'sLok the dust from his
co it as well as lie could and walked in, meeting
the smiling landlord at the door who graspeU
i approach any one on the subject of his mission
I if s long journey had fatigued him, and lie did
- *,, enter into a thorough limit until
Ills sup]ier was ready at dark and he
c »u nwi 7 n-
“Where are you going
' jg st esSrTs.jr^sfgijsise
asr-ras t V'fK”"
town puiv in the neighborhood. Tlie stranger
•° ... — r.,ii<", «rl.nt. .to voll want? as'-red yollllg_ 1'lliy Y.» r„i. a faur moments and
arose, still confused from the effects of his
dream, and was brushing liis clothes when there
came a timid knock at the door of his room.
“Come in,” said Uncle Jerry, arranging him
self the best he could on so short a notice.
The door opened, and a lady, rather portly,
with a thick veil over her face, entered.
“Are you the gentleman who came to the vil
lage this evening?” she asked without removing
her veil. .....
“I am, madam,” replied Uncle Jerry, handing
her a chair. . . ^ .
“I came to see you in behalf of a young lady,
who saw you as you arrived. If your name is
Jerremiali Thomas, of Mulberry farm, you are
tiie gentleman she desires very mucli to see.”
“That is my name, and I am from that place,”
said Uncle Jerry; “now who is the young lady
that desires so much to see me?”
“She would not give me her name, but she is
confined in the house you saw in the grove of
trees southwest of the village,” said the strange
woman. “The man who brought her here claims
she is insane.” . . . „
“That pi igy house, I knew was not all right,”
said Uncle Jerry to himself. “Drat the scoun
drel! it must be Agnes, the poor child, who
wants to see me. why did she not come her-
sell ?” he asked aloud.
“She is guarded and will not he permitted to
leave the house,” said the woman. “But 1 can
slip vou in at the rear way so you can see her.”
“If it is Agnes,” said Uncle Jerry earnestly,
“an’ I ever get my eyes on her. all the guards
that ever lived ’ll not keep me from briugin’ her
away.” • ...
The eyes of the strange woman were piereing
even through the veil which still covered her
“Are you ready to go?” she asked arising.
“I am,” answered the old gentleman putting
on his hat.
“Then follow me softly. Do not make any
noise, for eager eyes watch us from every nook
and corner. Where least expected, ail enemy
may be lurking.” ...... .
ncle Jerry, very much pleased that the ob-
,<>f pt*yjtaa nliniJ,ffat»MPfttHl|it^ft*
coiiipiislied, arose and followed her.
They passed softly out of the hall, down the
narrow, cramped stairway. The moon shone
almost bright as day. Uncle Jerry once thought
he saw a form crouching near the gateway,
through which they entered to approach the
house, but concluded after all it was only imagt-
''"Astliev proceeded on through the field, the
old gentleman’s dream was most vividly im
pressed on his mind hy the surroundings.
The moon shone with the same splendor, the
path, location and atmosphere seemed the same,
and lie even looked about to see if lie could dis
cover tlie strangely beautiful flowers.
Chancing to glance above him. Ins eye caught
the gleam of a glittering knife blade, held above
liis head ready to be plunged into liis heart.
Before the old gentleman could move, or the
dagger descend, there came a blow and the fall
0f furnhig instantly, completely bewildered, he
discovered tlie woman lying on tlie ground, and
a man. club in hand, standing by her side.
“Wliat? ho! who is that?” cried tlie proprie-
tor-of Mulberry farm, too much astonished to
know wliat he was saying.
“1 rutlier guess it’s me,” said a familiar
“an’ if 1 hadn’t jist gut in, in the nick o’ time,
that thar darned cuss ’nd a knifed ye.”
“Is that you. Sinum?” asked Uncle Jerry, be
ginning to recover his senses.
“It’s no one else, an’ a good thing for you 1 m
here.”
“How,and why did you come, Simon?”
“That I’ll explain in good time,” answered tlie
farmer, “fur tlie present we must dispose o’ this
ere feller, which, though lie's got on woman s
clothes, is a man. I’ve got my idees, too, as
wlio lie is.” . , ,, ...
Taking up tlie insensu le body as though it
was a child, Simon threw it over liis shoulder.
Guess 1 bit him harder n I intended, any
way. May lie I cracked liis mug,” remarked
Simon, as they retraced their steps across tlie
, ^ siiKl Simon, “I went back to tlie
farm, got a fresh horse, laid out a week’s work
fur tlie hands, an’ come on here. I’d just put
tlie beast iu tlie ham an’ was a coinin’ around
when 1 saw ve folleriu of a woman away. 1
thought it suspicious an’ concluded I’d keep in
sight an’ see what it meant. 1 don’t know why
I picked up that club, but it was right in my
path an’ I did. 1 kept right along close, an
when tlie woman got behind 1 was afeerd she
was up to mischief. Without makiu’any noise
1 kept in strikin’ distance, an’ as the knife was
raised, why tlie one who held it drapped rutlier
suddenly.
-Have you any idea who it is?” asked uncle
“Yes,” answered Simon, “but we’ll soon know
for sartin. I’ll jist take him afore a magistrate
an’ lay in a complaint for assault with intent to
kill. Don’t know, but 1 did smash his head, an
he’s dead though.”
Simon « alked oil a few paces in silence, bear
ing liis limp and apparently lifeless burden; but
suddenly it assumed full life, and tlie strength
and agility of a lion. Turning, Simon was grap
pled by the throat, the burden sprang from liis
shoulders, struck him a blow in the face that
staggered him, and broke away at a rate of
speed that seemed to hid defiance to pursuit.
The woman’s skirts, bonnet and veil were
thrown aside, and the fleeing person was in
man’s attire. He had not taken two dozen
paces before Simon had recovered himself and
was giving chase, yelling, “Slop, thief! as loud
as he could. But the pursued was fleetest of
foot. Uncle Jerry, knowing it was useless for
iiim to join in the chase, continued his way
toward the village tavern. In half an hour lie
was joined hy Simon. , . .. .. ___
“Where is your captive?” asked the old man.
“Got away,” was the reply, almost out ol
breath.
Run him across the field—run like a quarter
A Vision.
Listen, girls, while I read to you a poetic
sketch from the pen of mine literary relative.
But don’t peep, or you might attract the hoys;
besides I running the risk of annihilation, since
this youthful aspirant intended not other eyes to
gaze hereon:
Dear Cousin La Bahia: Your interesting letter
Was received long since, aud 1 guess I'd better
Make haste and to tlie sweet missive reply.
Lest with impatience you “droop and die!”
’Tis humiliating to relate—hut 1 often times
Have a fearful propensity for making rhymes;
And Ibis beinga charmingly charming night,
1 liud myself (pity me) in that plight.
Now. really, I hardly know what to write of
To suit tins foolisli style. Bin. in spite of
These confounded rhymes, I’ll try to tell thee
Of a little fun that not long since befell me:
There live in this place three damsels fair,
(Pardon me—to mention their names I would
not dare),
And these three maidens, to my heart’s delight,
Came out home with us to spend the night.
For the fair sex a weakness I confess,
And i’ll leave you what I don’t tell to guess.
Now, our house isn’t very large, hence
i made my bed ’tween the house and fence,
Where I could enjoy the pure, fresh air,
And listen to the snoring of the creatures fair.
But their snoring was just a little “too thin,
For soon I heard soft whisperings within.
Then did I hear them my name gently mention,
After which, of course, 1 was all attention.
-The naughty girls were forming a deep plan
By which to"frighten to death “that horrid man!
O, ears invaluable! O, blessed curiosity!
That prompted me to “catch on” to this mon
strosity!
For, had I not for the trick been prepared,
I would to deatli certainly have been scared.
But. being prepared, to have some fun I con
cluded, , , , .
And was soon apparently asleep—poor girls de
luded! , ,
However, I didn’t long have to use the deeeit,
For soon I heard the patter of slippered feet.
Then I could hear a rustling as of angels’ wings;
And then, inn. diately over me, a guitar’s
strings , .
Were gently touched, and by a hand so gifted
That 1 was almost off my humble bed lifted.
I didn’t look for this, and so great was my sur
prise,
I could uot resist, and opened wide my eyes.
What did I see? All! the most heavenly sight
Ever witnessed on this earth, by day or by night!
Three beautiful forms stood just over my head,
Dressed a la vour sex on retii iug to their bed,
With heaven-erected eyes and flowing tresses.
They resembled spirits; and their snow-white
dresses
But added to the charm of this the loveliest
Ever'gi'zed on by mortal man, I ween.
Merciful heaven, ere 1 go to that “realm on
Let me*smite on such again—then let me die!
They sang, with voices divine, in plaintiff tones
to me,
Of tlie hash I’d made of the hearts of the three.
They knew, they sang, my heart was another’s.
I saw my “game” was up, aud longed for two
mothers.
“Sweet spirits,” I cried, “hear my prayer!”
But ere I could say more they vanished in the
Now,*this seemed the strangest of all to me;
But some one had thrown over them a dark
quilt you see.
Wall, I caught ’em; but I won’t say more, I vow,
Fo*I almost faint to think of it, even now.
iris still live, and now are able
at the] way iu which I “turned ti
. *-->-* f - -• ~*n
T La Bahia.
| Kerr's Chat.
A loving greeting to you all, dear Household
friends. It has been more than a year since I
have been with you, and now I behold many
new faces and miss some of the old ones. I will
feel like a stranger in a strange land, hut since
Timid Allecn has called me I can but come.
I have been away in the mountains for months
and have gotten so fat and rosy that I can
scarcely he recognized as the same pale, thin
creature that came here. In the county adjoin
ing this, the people lived so long, and were so
very healty, that at last in despair they killed a
man to start a graveyard, but this country is not
so fortunate. There is, alas! many tombstones
gleaming white in the moonlight. There is a
poor fellow in this house now whose hours are
numbered. Tlie grim angel, Death, is now hov
ering near. In the room beneath mine lies a
young doctor rapidly growing weaker, and now
they say he will uot live to see tlie glorious mor
ning light. To-night tlie sky is blue and the
stars so bright, that it seems doubly hard to die.
Death should only come when everything is
dark and dreary. I remember so well only five
short summers ago this young doctor came here
with liis tiny, wilful, dark-eyed bride, only
eighteen. She was a mere child iu stature, with
great mournful brown eyes that seemed even
tlien to foretell sorrow and gloom in tlie future.
She was almost an invalid then and her young
husband in tlie proud strength of his twenty
years would carry her in liis aims up and down
tlie stairs, for fear his darling would become
tired. 1 little thought then that he would go
first.
Ellen S., forgive my long silence when you
were kind enough to mention me in your letter,
but I was so very near that 1 dared not answer.
By-the-way it hasn’t been so very long sine* I
saw you flitting lrom roek to rook and tree to
tree, and altogether lovely you looked too. Do
you remember a picnic you and other “valley
Veritas, whom I greatly admire, must hare
had on blue eye-glasses—so I forgive her.
Are any of tlie Householders members of the
Chautauqua Literary Society ? I
June, but had sense enough to find out that my
education was only commenced, and thought of
taking up a course of reading. A friend sept
me tne catalogue of the Chautauqua Literary
Society. Although I am not able to study a*
Chautauqua. I read an hour each day, and at the
end of four years, if I answer the questions sent
me, I receive a diploma. I advise as many of uie
Householders as can conveniently take up this
course to do so, for It is very improving and in
teresting, and affords the advantages of a col
legiate education.
With best wishes for all my favorites—among
them Charmion, Yellow Jessamine, Mack and
Cousin Tom—I remain the House ^ TEKFLY
Sylvan ia Defends Dancing-
Twen, I’m going to quarrel with you just like
everything. I don’t approve of round dancing,
either, but I can’t see why any one should be
denied so charming a pastime as the square
dance. Would you make the church a prison?
Dancing is more dignified than the romping
“plays” engaged in by church members in the
country. It is refining, since it enhances a love
for music. “Denying themselves all ungodli
ness,” you quote. I don’t belive in a gloomy,
Puritanic godliness. “To test a man’s religion,
touch liis pocket-book.” I’ve done some beg
ging for tlie church, and I haven’t found those
who condemn social amusements the most
cheerful givers,” by a good deal. I know of
several young men who have gone to the bad
because of their parents’ prejudice against
cheery, enlivening pastimes at home. Dancing
expect to be in Ocala this winter, and I want to
know who you are. Tell me, please, or give me
your initials. I will try to learn who you are
from them.
Do any of you know Wild Oats’ real name? I
notice you speak of her often. 8he must be a
sweet little girl, with her hawthorne blossom in
her “poke bonnet.” I am uneasy about her. for
when she wrote to you last year, she promised
she would not take a back seat, but I kinder
thiuk she has. Let us bear from you, Wild
Oats. I know every one would be glad to hear
from you. I enjoyed your last letter hugely.
Butterfly, write longer letters.
Dick Daring, you are a good one. I think you
would do for my “chum.” I have never found
bnt one boy yet that I thought would. What
State are you from?
Muda Hetnur, please write us another long
letter. They are so jolly.
Peach Blossom, bloom again before spring. I
would like to hear from you.
Where are Busy Bee, Viva, Yellow Jessamine
and many others who once filled the Household
columns, but who have been silent so long?
Please do not anyone ask who wrote this, for
you must not know. I will call again.
Your stranger friend,
Reckless Ten.
f)id you ever cut a girl’s acquaintance because
she was pretty? A physician, good and noble-
hearted, tells me that lie considers moderate
dancing the safest exercise in which a lady can
engage, as it is botli gentle and exhilarating.
When I see a preacher read a chapter contain
ing the “thou slialt nots,” and then settle liis
celluloids and go for the dancers, saying as many
hard things about them, as if they were all of
fice seekers. I’m reminded of a laborer, who,
having eaten a big breakfast preparatory to
clearing a new ground, swings liis axe and
chons down a bright, harmless little golden-rod.
Suppose he had felled one of tlie big trees.
Twen, and Hit one of the brethren who are lis
tening so comfortably. My! don’t you see?
My eyes strayed from my writing to tlie woods
which are all aglow with tlie colors of autumn.
Yet if He had willed He could have as easily
changed them all at once to a sombre brown.
God loves brightness, else why does he give us
all this variety of color, the suiish-ne, the sing
ing birds, the flowers and the purling broo-s.
These woods are a perfect feast to me. One
hour spent in them brings me nearer to God
than a whole volume of sermons.
No, Muda Hetner, I’m uot a heathen. I m
the granddaughter, great and small, and niece
of enough preachers to run a first class famine.
By the way, one of them was pastor of one of
the first Baptist churches organized in Virginia.
One page of the record of this church (before
he was pastor) reads of a sister who was “ex
cluded from the church for wearing two frills on
the skirt of her dress.’’ Wouldn’t she have a
high old time, though, if she was living now?
Love to everybody, particularly Mr. Oliver
Cromwell Twen.
Sylvan ia.
Sayonara's Divided Heart.
My heart is so divided between the charming
members of this unique Household, that I fear
I shall never be able to gather up the pieces, or
to decide who owns the largest share, but let me
whisper it. I am sure that either naughty Dick
Daring or sweet Field Flower can lay claim to
the lion’s share. What a really excellent letter
of Field Flower’s that was in the Sunny South
of November 1st. Such word’s of comfort and
encouragement could only emanate from a heart
overflowing with love and sympathy, which had
itself been taught in sorrow’s school. Yes, how
true it is that—
“If we could push ajar the gates of life.
Ami stand within and all God’s workings see,
We could interpret all this doubt and strife,
And for each mystery eould find a key;
And lie woulJ see Imw while we fret and sigh,
God’s plans go on as best for you and me,
How when we called He heeded notour cry,
Because His wisdom to the end eould see.”
Field Flower, some of your favorite authors
are mine also, particularly Mrs. Bryan, Marion
Harland, and Miss Mulock. John Halifax is my
ideal, and what could he sweeter or more touch
ing than her Douglas? I , T
Julian DeWitt, your poetry is beautiful. I
tjwk 1 <*-u' seeJhiotiKl*. yanr me.-Aw* iM-n
not an old "bach” who has a “grVat wakeness
for widders?” _
Vaurien, Pleased, Dick Daring, come often.
I watch for you-
Fearing lest I weary you,.I make my exit.
Sayonara.
The Burial of Henry Pierce.
It was the burial day of Henry Tierce. Of
course our tutor had given us a holiday, so that
he might see his pupil and we our fellow stu
dent laid to rest.
Yes, it was Henry Pierce’s last day on earth,
and oh! what a day it was—storm and rain, rain
and storm. The dismal funeral procession shiv
cred witli cold long before we reached the
church.
The solemn-faced minister read a psalm, and
after making a suitable address, we sang a last
requiem over our poor school-mate, “What a
Friend we have in Jesus.”
When it was over we again went forth into
the tempest. The friends and mourners
splashed through tlie mire to the cemetery.
As they lowered liis remains down in tlie
crave Mrs. Pierce (liis mother) gave one wild
erv Aery in which all the bitterness of her
heart—all the sorrow ol her life seemed to come
out in—
"O, my son, my son! .
He with all his genius and promise nos mould
ering under tlie clay and co fin lid. Gray’s lines
are certainly uot inappropriate:
Tlie boasts of heraldry, tlie pomp of power,
And all that beauty, all that wealth e’er gave,
Await, alike, th’inevitable hour;
The paths of glory lead but to the grave.
James E. Wray.
A Bright Auroral Ray.
“The embers burn low on the hearth.
And stilled is the stir of tlie household,
And hushed is tlie voice of its mirth.”
I am suffering to-night with ennui. Thinking
my depression of spirits will be dispelled by a
chat with the Householders, I plead for admis
sion.
Yellow Jessamine, I hope to visit your city
next spring, wearing a household badge. I have
a dear cousin residing in your town.
The sentiments expressed by One of the Peo
ple show her to be one of the noblest women
also. Would there were more like her in this
sinful, tc'.ig world. How much blighter and
better it would be. Her words appeal to all
that is truest aud best within, and bids us:
“Arise in new-horn strength; be up and doing
Be noble, sacrificing, earnest, true.’
Another changeful year will soon have passed
forever; and many treasured joys and sorrows
will be laid away in memory’s garner house.
Surely, friends, we see enough to remind us of
the progress of time, the earnestness of life, and
the expediency of adapting and utilizing .ill ad
vantages. Aurora Ray.
Green’s Court, Ga.
KVuu ii i mi, n ( x tiw -iiwciii iiii'cc. First olio, then .mother, then
“One called Miss Nelson, a pooty lady what I ■ j llte res1ed in tlie abduction.
“Who?”
“The one I floored dressed like a woman was
Hannan Parker.”
“Weil?e'riie wuzent that lawyer what pulls
his whiskers. I’nt mistaken.”
“Jippy Jerkum?”
“Yes/’
you , . , .
people” had on the first Monday in September?
Did you see anybody that you thought was Kerr?
Well I went to call on a friend and passed your
gay little party, and longed very much to speak
to iny childhood friend and ask if George still
wore a bonnet to keep off tlie freckles.
It is getting very cold up here, and I am be
ginning to dream of a warm coal fire, a big arm
chair and a pile of hooks that I shall find await
ing me at home.
Has Bach Sylvanus vanished from the House
hold? Let me tell you something—he actually
made a speech in public, on the stage, and very
highly commended it was. too. Somebody kind
ly sent it to me and I enjoyed reading It very
much, even if Bach did say I was utterly false
and the truth was not in me.
Chips, I wonder if all drummers are alike?
saw a very handsome fellow on the train as I
came up from Toccoa to Rabun Gap Junction
this summer. He was small, had a dark mus
tache and blue eyes, and had on a large ring
with a carved stone in it. Could it have been
Chips? He was soimt^rlinent that I knew he
must l<e a drummer. When 1 went to get off he
said. “I am going to get off iiere, too,” looked at
me most saucily and followed me to the plat
form. But there I was met by so many friends
that my drummer friend heat a hasty retreat.
Lewis, what has become of you? Remember
you are sadly misled by Kerb.
A Good Suggestion from Butterfly.
Although I escaped the w. b., still my anxious
glances were not rewarded hy one welcoming
smile. I write again with tho hope of a better
result As my little brother quotes, “The bright of" yon anyway. j
youth from Lexington 3ays there is no such word | Where are yiiu. Wandering .ren.Jina^^w no are
as/ail.” Was my nom de plume against me? I
hope not, for I have a particular reason for
taking that nom, which I may at some luture
date explain.
1 beg of the Householders not to judge of my
character hy the nom. It is true I am young,
gay, very fond of dancing, and some say pretty
(no conceit).
I decidedly do not agree with Veritas in regard
to dancing. 1 think it is a very pleasant, but
harmless, pastime, if not carried to an excess.
DOMESTIC HINTS-
ORANGE PRESERVES.
Some time, when oranges are plenty, and con
sequently cheap, try this old-time recipe for
making preserves of them;
Grate tlie thin outer portion of the rind, then
squeeze out all the juice and pulp; put the or
anges into cold water, and let them lie there for
one day and one night; meanwhile weigh the
juice and pulp and grated peel; allow twice
their weight uf sugar; boil them together until
the syrup looks clear, taking care to skim off
any scum that rises; put tliis in a cool place un
til the oranges have been in tlie water tlie re
quired time; then cut tlie oranges into small
pieces, drain them well, put them into some
fresh water, just enough to cover them, add su
gar in the proportion of half a pound to one pint
of water; when they have boiled iu this until
they are tender, adcf the pulp, etc. Let them
boil then for ten minutes, after which they are
ready to be put away iu cans. Instead of cut
ting the oranges into small pieces, you may chop
them very fine.
BEGIN WITH SOUP.
No doubt, in many families, the prejudice
against soup lias arisen from the fact that it is
usually prepared and served in large quantities,
instead of, as at the tables of tlie rich, in small
portions, though many kinds would furnish in
themselves a substantial meal for a growing
child. At any rate, tlie advantages of commenc
ing dinner witli soup are manifest in the saving
of tlie meat bills, and economy practiced in util
izing tlie scraps of all kinds for the making of
the soups, and tlie comfortable sensation expe
rienced after a little has been taken; for let any
person who feels, as the saying goes, “too hun
gry to eat,” swallow a few spoonfuls of soup,
and the feeling of exhaustion will quickly pass
away. Indeed, a well-known authority has said
that nothing tends more to restore the tone of
the stomach and make easy digestion than a
little soup. »
LIME WATER FOR BURNS.
Tlie readiest and most useful remedy for
scalds and burns is an embrocation of lime
water and linseed oil. These simple agents
combined form a thick, cream-like substance,
w hich effectually excludes the air from the in
jured parts and allays the inflammation almost
instantly. The mixture may be procured in the
drug stores, but if not thus accessible, slack a
lump of quicklime in water, and as soon as the
water is clear mix it with the oil and shake well.
If the case is urgent, use boiling water over the
lime, and it will become clear in five minutes.
The preparation may be kept ready bottled in
the house, and it will be as good six months old
as when first made.
BREAD PUDDING.
One pint of stale bread, one quart of sweet
milk, one teaspoonful of salt, three tablespoon-
fnls of sugar and two eggs. Soak tlie bread and
milk together -two hours, then mash fine with
tlie back of tlie spoon; beat eggs, sugar and salt
together, and add to tlie bread and milk, turn
into tlie pudding dish and ha-e in a slow oven
forty-five minutes. Run a knife or the handle
of a spoon down the centre of tlie pudding. If it
•lues not loos milky it is done. Cover the top of
tlie pudding witli meringue.
HARD GINGERBREAD.
One cup of molasses, one cup of sugar, one-
half cup of milk, one-half cup of butter, one-
half cup of lard, a little salt, one egg, a scant
teaspoonful of ginger and a heaping teaspoonful
of saleratus. Mix quite hard. Roll out, cut in
cards to suit your pan, which should be a shal
low one. Have your oven hot when you put
your bread in, but lie careful not to burn it.
Sometimes you may put in one teaspoonful of
cream of tartar, hut it is not necessary.
WALL PAPER ON WOOD.
To make wall paper stay smoothly upon an
tinceiled wall, first cover every crack with strips
of old sheeting or similar stuff, torn into strips
wide enough to cover the crack completely and
adhere well to each edge YYfi-n tills is dry.
tfien paper. The expansion and contraction of
tlie lumber will go on all the same, but behind
tlie cloth, so that it will in no say interfere with
the wall paper.
CARROT SOUP.
Cut up some carrots very fine, put into a pot
with either a small piece of raw beef or the bone
remaining from a roast leg of mutton, two or
three onions, one turnip, pepper and salt. Boil
for three hours, and then nut through a colan
der or sieve. Make this tlie day before it is
wanted and rewarm. Potato soup is excellent
made in tlie same way. only substituting po
tatoes for the carrots and adding one carrot.
CREAM PIE.
A cream pie made after this rule is an improve
ment upon tlie old-time so-called pie: Make a
ricli custard; if possible, use cream, if not, use
rich milk and some cream with it; bake this in a
puff paste; while it is baking whip a coffee-cup
full of thick, sweet cream till it is as light as it
can he, and when tlie pie is taken from the oven
put tlie whipped cream on tlie top.
BEEF FRITTERS.
Beef fritters are nice for breakfast; chop
pieces of steak or cold roast beef very fine.
Make a batter of milk. Hour and an egg. and mix
tlie meat with it. Put a lump of butler into a
saucepan, let it inelt.tlien drop tlie batter into it
from a large spoon. Fry inn il brown; season
ith pepper ami salt aud a little parsley.
HOW TO PREPARE CITRON.
Soak tlie citron for a short time in warm water,
until the inside can he cleaned by a little scraping
then cook in a syrup made of brown sugar, until
tin- sugar lias penetrated il well, but do not cook
ill tender, then take it out and drain it on a
sieve, then put it in a warm oven and let it dry
slowly.
PUDDING SAUCE.
A delicious sauce for plain rice pudding is
made bv stewing some apples and grapes until
perfectly soft, tlien rub them through a sieve,
sweeten, put a lump of butter in, aud if too thin
stir in a little corn-starch.
CURE FOR FELONS.
Saturate a bit of grated wild turnip, the size of
bean «itli turpentine, and apply it to tlie af
fected part. It will relieve pain at once, aud de
stroy tlie felon in twelve hours.
A Stranger Inquires After Many
Householders.
Will the Householders open their doors to a
stranger (but a friend) and greet him with a
smile, as some of them did when Big Four re
turned, or will they bolt them and say, “No ad
mittance for you?”
If you knew me I think some of you would
say, "Come in ; we are glad to see you.” for I
have a friend among you. I will try to be one
would he welcomed by all
. >y. 1 ‘
I can and w
for I enjoy
HllCIC die jwu,
you? A hasty reply
1 think; it would hy me, anywa . -
your letters immensely. I can and will sympa
thize with you, as I am a wanderer myself.
Though I wonder in another State. I would like
to know you, for who knows hut that we may
"'! wiTvisittfie Land of Flowers this winter
think, and I hope to meet you. Will you be in
St. Augustine? I may go to that place before
' bShfout, who are you, where have you been
and where are you going? I enjoy your letterSj
too; and, Seclusla, yours are spicy and sweet.
Bv land or at sea, out on the prairie, or in the
crowded eiiy, Ayer’s Cathartic Pills are the btst
for purgative purposes. Everywhere alike con
venient, efficacious and safe. For sluggish
bowels, torpid liver, indigestion, had breath,
flatulency and sick headache, they are a sure
remedy. t
Opium, C hloral,
and Whiskey Habits successfully treated with
out pain or detention fnxr daily business. No
restrictions on diet. All commun cations strictly
confidential. By A. S. Woolley, M.D.. Selma,Ala.
4.9 3m
CONSUMPTION
\ CURED. 'I
BREWER'S;
lung:
I RESTORER