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THE SUNNY SOUTH, ATLANTA, GA., SATURDAY MORNING, AUGUST 6,1887
Texarkana Notes.
Editor Sissy South : You know I told you
last time of a rumored marriage. It has taken
place, and the brilliant MiB8 Amboline Ghio,
our local literary star of first magnitude, has
yielded herself to the care of a liege lord. The
happy couple are expected home soon from a
very extended bridal tour through the Northern
and Southern cities. The bride is the eldeBt
daughter of ex-Mayor Ghio, one of our pioneer
citizens and largest dealers in this section.
Miss Ghio only recently returned from an ex
tended travel through Europe. Mr. Griffin is
fortunate indeed in plucking from the matri
monial partiere so rare a flower.
Senator J. K. Jones and family have been in
the double city, the guests of Mr. and Mrs.
Johnson of College Hill.
Hon. Dave Culberson is soon to discuss the
prohibition question in our city.
Dr. Auicus Haygood delivered an eloquent
and 'rgi-ai address at Ghio’s Opera House, on
the 8:h iust., to an appreciative audience. His
subject was the much-discussed prohibition.
His beautiful daughter charmed everybody
with her excellent singing.
Miss Irene Ferguson has kept her father’s
home gay with the presence of accomplished
guests for several weeks past.
Our pretty little belle, Miss Leila Rogers, is
on a visit to Mrs. Gano, of Dallas, Texas. < >ur
society feels the absence of her sweet face and
cheering presence.
Mrs. If. W. Chappell, of Texarkana, Ark.,
has recently returned to her home from a visit
to her brother, Hon. Wm. Daniel, of Clarks
ville, Tenn. Much to the joy of her friends,
whose name is legion, she returns, after a long
and dangerous illness, with well-restored health.
She is now the guest of Mrs. E. R. Souther,
State Line Ave.
The Whittemores have, after several delays,
at last left the disconsolate “Can’t-Get-Away
Club” and departed for congenial and attract
ive summer resorts East and North.
Miss Elise Stuart, of Washington, Ark., has
recently paid a social obligation by visiting her
friends in our city as the special guest of Miss
Valle Warren and the family of E. A. Warren,
of the Daily Independent.
Ex-Mayor C. C. Dorrian, who was called by
urgent business to visit his aged mother in Ire
land, sailed on the 23d inst. for America, and
soon the bright eyes ol his lovely wife will
sparkle with their wonted merriment in a hap
py welcome to her liege lord.
Mrs. Dr. C. C. Burke, formerly of Cuthbert,
Ga., is now on a visit to her father, who lives
in Florida. Her daughter and the husband,
Hon. C. S. Todd, accompanied her as far as
New Orleans, La.
The Gate City baseball boys are making a
tour through the State of Texas and winning
golden opinions for excellent playing, and, bet
ter than all else, most gentlemanly behavior. •
Miss Kate Williams, daughter of that
most popular physician, Dr. D. S. Wil
liams, of Wood street, has homeward
turned from a long, long visit in Ten
nessee; but Miss Lula Trigg remains, and is
now in Lexington, Kentucky. Ah, thus our
girls will linger in the gay cities to
bless and brighten other social circles than
ours, and yet we are jealous of such flights, but
all our love for the presence of the gifted young
does not keep them always near.
The event of this mid summer season was a
Garden Party at the Webber fruit farm, about
one mile from town beyond the College Hill
suburb. Early in the evening many buggies
and carriages went hither and thither for the
cargo of guests that were to grace the occasion,
and an inspiriting procession they made; a gay
scene the crowd made; a regular picture vi-
vant; the many Japanese lanterns, the blight
flowers, the sparkling eyes, happy faces, and
airy apparel rendered the event one long to be
remembered. The table was resplendent un
der its weight of luscious fruit and delightful
melons; the cake and cream were aufait.
This is an extensive farm devoted exclusive
ly to fruits and vegetables. It is a pleasure to
wander through the yard s and well assorted
crrowtbs of fruit trees, then upon the banks of
the pretty fish-pond. It is a romantic place
with picturesque surroundings that others than
courting people can enjoy and appreciate.
Mr. Boswell manipulates the regulations of
the place. But his brother-in-law, Hon. T. E.
Webber, Prosecuting Attorney, delights to
steal away from his legal cares and labors to
enjoy the rural influences now and then, when
professional claims allow, as on the occasion
of which we write. One would forget, on see
ing his perfect abandon to the merriment ol
the hour, that he was sometimes stern in his
legal opinions which are always highly es
teemed and sought after.
Mesdames C. E. Dixon and E. A. Warren
assisted Mrs. Webber in receiving and enter
taining the guests; noue could excel the queen
ly, hospitable manner in which all were re
ceived and delighted during the whole evening.
An impromptu rain brought an impromptu
dance, in which some of the sedate ones took
an active part; one set was especiaily the “old
folks’ set.”
Mrs. O. P. Taylor and her three interesting
daughters leave to day for a lengthy visit to
the maternal grandmother in North Carolina.
Col. Bowers, of the Morning Timex, has had
the shadow of continued illness resting o’er his
household for months, but now they are re
stored to a state of convalescence.
Business is comparatively good for this date;
there have been plenty of rains and the crops
on the hill and river farms are beautiful to look
at.
1’eaches are remarkably scarce, but the
bountiful watermelon supply makes the aver
age darky happy.
There’s very little sickness throughout the
country, indeed, so little, that it is remarkable.
Au revoir. Idler.
July 27, 1887.
*%
Courtship in the Carolines.
[Wilson (N. C.) Advance.]
Go home at a reasonable hour in the evening.
Don’t wait until the girl has to throw her
whole soul into a yawn that she can’t cover
with both hands. A little thing like that may
cause a coolness at the very beginning of the
game. If you sit down on some molasses can
dy that Willie has left on the chair, while wear
ing your new summer trousers for the first
time, smile sweetly and remark that you don’t
mind sitting on molasses candy at all, and that
“boys will be boys.” Reserve your true feel
ings for future reference.
**•
At Little Rock the Wagner Club has been
revived under most favorable auspices. The
club is now composed of Misses Estelle Tucker,
Irene Baird, Udica Eisenmeyer, May Chappel,
all young ladies of unusual musical ability, and
all are determined to make the Club take first
rank in Little Rock and the State. They are
pupils of Mrs. L. Herrwagen, and she takes
gteat pride in their efficiency, as well she may.
Lovers of the waltz may celebrate its cente
nary. The first dance which could be de
scribed as a waltz was introduced to the public
in an opera at Vienna, in 1787, by one Vicente
Martiny Solar (commonly called Martini lo
Spagnuolo), who was a popular composer at
the ccurt of Joseph II.
Ex-Gov. Alger, of Michigan, wants the Board
of Regents of the State University to establish
at Harper Hospital, Detroit, a clinical school
in connection with the university, and offers
to give $10,000 to start the fund necessary
therefor.
WHITES HEHORABILES.
“BY B. B ”
Dramatis Personae.
Thb Doctor—a bachelor, age 60.
The Judge—a bachelor, age 46.
The Professor—a bachelor,(suspect) age 30.
The Madam—a widow, (landlady) age un
certain.
The Imp—landlady’s hopeful, age irrelevant.
Time—Night.
Scene—Bachelor’s Apartments in a Down-
street Boarding House.
[Copyrighted by Author. All rights reserved.]
The Doctor : Confound you 1
The Prof., (laughing): No, I’ll confound
yon by telling you why I don’t like Crabbe. It
is all the fault of a ridiculous blunder of mine,
once, in which I managed to cover myself up
in enough shame, confusion and mortification
to last me for a life-time if it had been judi
ciously distributed out, that the mention of his
name never fails to recall.
While at college I was once invited out to
dine with a class-mate who lived in the city.
It was an invitation not to be declined, and I
went brushed up in my best outside and in, for
I knew the family to be renowned for rare cult
ure and intelligence. We sat down to dinner,
six of us—the father and mother, the son, two
daughters, just out of school, and myself. I
sat on one side by one of the young ladies,
while her sister and brother sat opposite us.
The conversation went on briskly from the be -
ginning. We talked on various subjects, and
1 must confess I did my part of it. I had al
ways been a close student, had read widely for
one of my age, and for once my natural shy
ness seemed to have left me in a most oppor
tune moment. I was at my best, and was
doing my best to make the best of it. I was
making a good impression, and I knew it. My
friend was surprised and delighted, the young
ladies were pleased and smiling, and the old
gentleman and lady were interested. I grew
more and more bold and self-complacent. I
discussed housekeeping and servants with the
old lady, exchanged classic quotations with the
old gentleman, argued questions of science with
the brother, and answered the sallies of the
young ladies with jeux d'esprit in good French
from their favorite authors. The dinner was
nearly over—alas! that it had been entirely so,
or that the earth had opened beneath and swal
lowed me up in the little hour of my triumph!
I had just succeeded in convincing the old
gentleman that the ancient Romans excelled us
in culinary art as well as in everything else
generally, when the young lady opposite me—
with whom I had broken more than one lance
that evening and came out unscathed from the
tournament—taking advantage of a pause, ad
dressed me across the table with “Mr. ,
come to my assistance here against this per
verse brother of mine, please, and say some
thing real spiteful about those horrid ‘Crabbe
Tales’ he persists in being so fond of. I am
sure you have a taste too truly refined and po
etic not to join me in detesting such stuff. I
can find no other word for it!”
I know how it all happened now, and that it
was natural enough. But it was years before
I could bring myself to think over it with suf
ficient calmness to disabuse my mind of the
suspicion that I had been deliberately and ma
liciously entrapped into making a consummate
fool of myself. I ought to have known better;
indeed I did know better, if I had not been so
intoxicated with myself as to have taken leave
of my sober senses altogether. We had been
discussing Roman dishes, and my mind was
still running on cookery. I caught the ques
tion perhaps indistinctly, but it never occurred
to me but that the young lady was asking my
opinion of some new-faDgled preparation of
those confounded, misbegotten, back-actioned
abortions of nature that frequent the shallow
waters of warm seas, and, assuming my charm-
ingest smile and manner, I replied: “Indeed
it would give me great pleasure to come to
your assistance, but I fear I would not be con
sidered a competent witness, as I must frankly
confess I don’t remember to have ever eaten
any."
The words had hardly escaped my lips—and
I am sure the look of intense surprise, brief as
it was, with which they were greeted all round
had not had time to pass off from the faces of
my astonished auditors—when the awful real
ization of the ludicrous blunder I had made
flashed in upon me, overwhelming me with
shame and mortification and striking me speech
less with confusion and agony. Of course
a word would have explained it all and
turned it oil in a good laugh, all round, at
my expense. But if that word had been
the purchase of a life I could not have
spoken it. My tongue took refuge in the roof
of my mouth and refused to be dislodged. My
lips might have been marble for any color or
power of motion left in them. Of course ft
taxed the good-breeding of my friends to its
utmost to preserve their gravity. But by a
painful effort they did so, and I was spared the
last drop at least in the bitter cup of my hu
miliation. I don’t remember that I spoke
again, except when addressed, till I took my
leave, which I did as soon as I could decently
do so, though I’ve no distinct recollection of
how I managed to pass the intervening time,
or of anything that was done or said. I only
know that I left shortly and that I never went
back. My school life ended in a few days af
terwards, unexpectedly, as you know, and I
never met any of the family again.
Now, sirs, can you wonder at my dislike of
Crabbe when the very mention of his name
never fails to recall the agony and humiliation
of that awful hour? I hate him. It may be
wrong, but God help me! I can’t help it.
The Judge: That reminds me, Will, of a
little blunder of mine once while I was at col
lege, that proved in the end to be even more
fatal than yours.
While taking my last year’s course at college
1 was so fortunate as to make the acquaintance
—my room-mate and I—of a very estimable
gentleman and his wife, who frequently in
vited us to their elegant home to take tea, and
spend an evening occasionally when we could
spare the time from our studies. At such
times they always managed to have a party of
their young friends present, and thus I gradu
ally made the acquaintance of most all the
young ladies and gentlemen of the “first cir
cles” in the town—for it was not a large one,
only some two thousand inhabitants in all.
Of course this was all very pleasant, and very
kind on the part of Mr. and Mrs. C——. But
I was by nature very bashful, very timid and
more inclined to be thoughtful than talkative,
and I am not sure but that I reaped less pleas
ure than pain from these kind attentions of my
two friends, for I was strongly attached to
them, and fuily appreciated the interest they
seemed to take in me. My room-mate, a gay,
happy, good-hearted fellow, with a keen sense
of the ridiculous, and none of my timidity was
never happier than at these little parties, ex
cept when laughing at me and teasing me the
most good-humoredly in the world, about my
frequent bashful blunders. Sometimes at tea
Mr. C would be abseLt on some business
or other, and at such times it was Mrs. C—’s
custom to call upon me to “return thanks”—
always to my great consternation and my
room-mate’s unbounded delight.
Well, Commencement day came at last. My
room-male and I divided the “honors” of the
class. He had been chosen “Salutarian,” and
I to deliver the “Valedictory.” I spent
nearly six weeks in writing and committing
my address. I thought it was fine then, and I
believe to this day it was quite a creditable
production, everything considered. I had a
theme exactly suited to my taste, and I worked
at it heartily and enthusiastically. My memory
was always somewhat treacherous, and know
ing this, I committed it thoroughly, till I could
repeat it as readily as I could my Latin conju
gations. The commencement exercises were
to come off that night. In honor of my room
mate and I, Mr. and Mrs. C. gave a dinner
that day to the entire class. Absent minded
as usual and with my head full of my speech,
I was last to arrive, and in fact came in just as
the party were going out to dinner, in time to
fall in with the procession to the dining room.
As we stood round the table before sitting
down I noticed that I was acquainted with
everybody present except my vis a vis—a
young lady with a bright face, jet-black hair
and dark roguish fun-loving eyes. I wondered
why Mrs. C. did not introduce me, but sup
posed she was not aware that I had just come
in, and took it for granted that I had met the
young lady in the drawing room. So we sat
down. I heard Mrs. C. address something to
me; I glanced at the foot of the table, Mr. C.
was absent. Yes, that was it. Down went
my head into my plate and I proceeded to in
voke the usual divine blessing. Imagine my
astonishment on raising up to find the faces of
the company convulsed with suppressed laugh
ter, aud the young lady opposite me blushing
as if the glow of a thousand summer mornings
had suddenly been spread all at once over her
face and neck. I glanced at the face of my
room -mate in a mulopiteous appeal tor some
explanation. This was more than be could
stand, and he burst into a perfect tempest of
laughter in which the whole company joined
unrestrainedly. I was utterly bewildered and
stared about me in my confusion like one pos
sessed. But no one could speak for laughing.
The young lady who sat opposite me first found
voice to explain the situation—and augment
my misery. "Mr. , I certainly do feel
complimented,” she said, “and am profoundly
grateful. I have been introduced to many a
young man, but you are the first one that ever
regarded the matter of making my poor ac
quaintance as of sufficient importance to re
turn thanks to the divine give of all blessings
for, at least in my presence. But let us hope a
friendship that has such an auspicious begin
ning may be a blessing to us both.” Of course
this Bpeech half in banter, hall in effort to come
to my relief, provoked renewed peals of laugh
ter in which I was forced in self defense to
join. It was a good joke at my expense and I
bore it as well as might have been expected of
one of natural timidity and sensitiveness. But
that was not to be the end of it, nor the worst
of it either. Night came on and with it the
Commencement Exercises. The large hall
was crowded almost to suffocation. My room
mate won rapturous applause and more bo-
quets than he could carry. The rest of the
class acquitted themselves creditably. Every
thing had moved on beautifully without a sin
gle hitch or jar. And now came my tiAe. I
rose up surprised at my own self-possession. I
began without a tremor, and the words follow
ed each other without, it seemed to me, any
effort on my part to recall, or even pronounce
them. It seemed to me that my theme pos
sessed me and was using my lips as instru
ments with which to express itself—that I had
no part nor lot in the matter except to sur
render myself willingly into its power. I
was something near half through I suppose,
and was just in the middle of one of finest
flights when in an unlucky moment I encoun
tered the gaze of a pair of dark roguiBh eyes
looking up at me, with a mischievous twinkle
in them, from the front row of seats almost at
my feet. I know she did not mean to smile,
for with tears in her eyes she told me so after
ward; but smile she did, and in that smile the
scene at the dinner table all came back upon
me like a whirlwind, utterly and hopelessly
confusing me. I halted, stammered, stopped.
Then the very fact of being confused increased
my confusion and embarrassment. I tried to
go on, but could not recall a single line. My
memory had forsaken me utterly. My senses
had taken their leave too. I pressed my hand
to my forehead in vain effort to collect my
scattered powers. It was no use. With one
imploring look at the astonished audience I
turned trembling to my seat and buried my
face in my hands, and the bitterest tears I ever
shed crept through my fingers. There was an
awful silence for a few seconds, succeeded by
a deafening clamor from every part of the
house,—men, women and children shouting
my name and crying out, “Don’t give it up!”
“Come again!” and such like. The kind
hearted old President was at my side by the
time I had taken my seat, trying in vain to
comfort me.
God rest his dear kind soul! if he had but
stopped to think he must have known that ev
ery Kind word he said by way of reconciling
me to my defeat, but ad led to the weight of
the bitterness of the humiliation and self-dis
appointment under which I was already endur
ing more than the agonies of death. There is
a great truth at the bottom of that familiar say
ing, “All extremes are equal.” For certainly
there is a point pressed beyond which the in
tensity of despair resolves itself into a delirium
of hope irresistable and uncontrollable in its
strength and fury. I had reached it. “They
are calling you; what shall 1 tell them?” whis
pered the kind hearted old man. That was all
I needed to bring on the reaction. I did not
answer him, but rose up and brushing past
him with head erect walked amid the wildest
applause to the front of the stage. O, but I
was calm and cool now! I knew what I was
doing. I had endured the utmost, and had ab
solutely no fear for I had nothing to lose, noth
ing at stake and everything, but especially my
lost faith in self, to gain. I felt myself grow
with the strength of my determination as I
stepped forward. Waiting with folded arms
for the noise to subside I told amid deafening
cheers and laughter without reservation, save
in names, the cause and history of my failure.
Then taking up my theme again from the be
ginning, went through it, as I knew I would
when I rose to do it, and sat down amid the
applause of the audience and the congratula
tions of my classmates with the conscious
pride of having fought successfully the hardest
battle of my life, and conquered my own weak ■
ness!
[continued next week.]
COL. DONAN’S PABTY.
Minnesota Cives Them a Royal Wel
come and Cood Time.
St. Paul, July 24.—The party of Southern
ladies in charge of Col. Fat Donan have been
the recipients of a welcome akin to that given
the Fitzhugh Lee party last winter. A wel
come reached them long before they arrived in
the shape of telegrams, invitations and requests
for engagements, and every day of their stay
at Lake Minnetonka has been filled with
steamboat and yachting excursions, receptions,
hops, etc. Newspapers publish their biogra
phies and alleged portraits, and Col. Donan,
Opie Read and Eugene Field are besieged for
introductions. Tuesday they do St. Paul, and
will be driven out to Minnehaha and visit the
Minnesota regiment of militia camped at Fort
Snelling. Later they explore the park region
about Alexandria, and possibly will go to Da
kota.
The Problem of FalliQg in Love.
[Harper’s Bazar.]
It is difficult to say what it is that enchants
a young man’s fancy, what particular attrac
tion, what “touch of hand, turn of head,” be
cause the observer is always more or less sur
prised that such feeble charms should effect
such large results. One would say that it can
not be invariably beauty that decides, if beauty
had not as many definitions as religion or love,
or there would be no lovely spinsters; it can
not be intellect, or we should meet no insane
married women; it cannot always be amiability
or we should see no vixens presiding over
households; nor social position, or there would
be misalliances; nor money, or all the penni
less maidens would be left to single blessed
ness. A young man’s fancy, to be sure, like
everybody’s, is much influenced by propinqui
ty; it is the woman of whom he sees the most,
with whom he is intimate enough to discover
the attractions that are often overlooked by
other friends, who appeals to him; but among
a number with whom he is equally intimate
how does it happen that he selects one espec
ially and finds her all the poetry and music of
his life?
Mrs. Hamilton Fish’s Thoughtfulness.
[Washington Post.]
As the leading representative of officialdom
in society she (Mrs. Hamilton Fish) is remem
bered as the embodiment of womanly grace
and dignity, and many stories are told of how,
in her charming, peerless way, she proved,
without display, her thoughtful consideration
for the comfort and the convenience of other
people One of these stories relates to a kind-
nsss shown on one occasion to a newspaper
reporte*. Harry O’Connor was not only a
bright young journalist, but he carried with
him a degree of personal dignity seldom at
tained by the newspaper fraternity. He had
done some service in Washington and had
made the acquaintance of Charley Godfrey’s
wine-room, which was then located on Penn
sylvania avenue, near Fourteenth street, and
which stood so high in the esteem of connois
seurs that even gentlemen like Hamilton Fish
not infrequently purchased their brandies and
Madeiras at that mart. O’Connor was one
day dispatched by his newspaper to interview
the Secretary at Garrison’s Landing, where he
was spending a vacation. The Secretary be
ing out when the interviewer called, the ser
vant took the card to Mrs. Fish, who received
the visitor with distinguished consideration.
At the close of a pleasant conversation, in
which O’Connor tried hard to be just as digni
fied and elegant as the estimable lady herself,
Mrs. Fish, with that combination of tact and
grace that never failed her, begged to return
the gentleman’s card. “You may possibly
find further use for this card,” she said. It
just happened that O’Connor’s card case was
pretty low at that time, and taking back the
card in the spirit in which it was offered, he
thanked her for her thoughtful kindness. Plate
cards at that time would probably cost about
five cents each. Without 1 joking at the card,
O’Connor put it back into his case.
Some time after he was relating the incident
for the edification of a number of friends that
they might admire the thoughtfulness of Mrs.
Fish. 4 I'd like to have that card,” one of his
friends remarked. “You can have it if you’ll
promise to take gocd cire of it,” said O Con
nor, and he opened his card case and handed
the card over. Then, for the first time, it was
noticed that on the back of the card was this
memorandum: ‘ Don’t forget to pay Godfrey
on Saturday $2.75 for whisky.” Tnen it oc
curred to O’Conner that it was on account of
the memorandum, and not for mere economy,
that Mrs. Fish had returned it. Godfrey’s
name was familiar to her, and she did not
want the honest del t jr to for 6 et to pay the
score.
Saddays at Sugar Hill.
Ole Bee.
The ass has never played a very romantic
part in the world’s history. Sterne, it iB true,
once expended some pages of maudlin senti
ment upon him, and Mr. Bergh rises now and
then to vindicate his rights against human ag
gression, but with these exceptions, we are ac
customed to regard him only as a bearer of
burdens and the subject of injurious compari
sons with certain of our own species. His half
brother, the mule, does not stand in much bet
ter repute, and has even more frequently, per
haps, been made the subject of disparaging re
marks.
Old Bee was not a very promising specimen
of her kind. You could have told all her ribs
a hundred yards off, and her back was as sharp
as a Florida hog’s. Her hide was a faded sor
rel. so like the color of the old red hills among
which she strayed that in winter when the dog
fennel was gone, she could hardly be distin
guished from them, and the cockle burrs with
which her mane and tail were always plenti
fully adorned, might have been supposed to be
indigenous there, but for an occasional switch
of the tail in a futile attempt to intercept some
deluded fly that had the hardihood to imagine
it could get a living out of old Bec’3 superan
nuated hide. She was blind in one eye, and
her ears had an illogical trick of never moving
in the same direction at once. Her legs exhib
ted the same peculiarity, so that there seemed
to be a chronic difference of opinion among
them as to which way they should go—that is,
when they consented to go at all, for old Bee
was not an animal much given to locomotion.
In summer, when she could get a precarious
living out of the Bermuda grass that struggled
with the dog fennel along the roadside, Bee’s
ribs would become a little less prominent, and
her legs showed more unanimity of action in
their staggerings over the old red hills and
gullies where she was accustomed to forage,
though it must be admitted that at her best,ole
Bee makes but a sorry figure. Standing mo-
iionless in a fence corner, with her legs at all
possible angles with the ground, and her one
eye fixed un expectantly upon the door of a
ricketty little cabin that squats like a toad
stool between two stumpy china trees,
she does not budge at the sound of footsteps
approaching in the road behind her, nor does
she condescend to alter her position when a
stout hickory walking cane is laid across her
haunches, and an objurgatory voice exclaimed:
“Hi, git outen de way dar, you good-fur-
nothin’ critter you! Wha’ you mean by
stoppin’ up de foot path wid yo’ hime legs
when dar’s de big road fur you to go in?”
The speaker was no other than the comfor
table, well-fed pastor of Kingdom Come
Church, on his way to Sadday evenin’ confer
ence, dressed up in a “sto’ coat” and archaic
beaver hat, whick though somewhat “off” as
to color, and a good deal worse off as to nap,
gave the wearer an air of grave respectability
quite too dignified to look with patience upon
such a beggarly vagabond as old Bee. Seeing
that she paid no heed to his first emphatic ad
monition, he was about to apply the moral
suasion of the rod a second time, when the
door of the little cabin swung open and a seedy
looking old darkey,-in a very ragged shirt, and
almost as shaky about the legs as Bee herself,
came shambling down the path with a wooden
bucket on his arm. Immediately Bee’s stolid
indifference to sublumary things gave place to a
subdued friskiness, like an old maid about to
receive an offer. With an abortive flourish of her
tail and an asthmatic whicker that might have
passed for a wheeze, she aether four uncertain
legs in motion and wobbled round to the little
ricketty gate that opened into the cabin yard;
but notwithstanding that in the matter of legs
the advantage of Dumber was wholly on Bee’s
side, the old negro had got there before her.
“Howdy, bte’r Edom!” he exclaimed, paus
ing with his hand on the latch as he spied the
wearer of the beaver hat passing along the
road. “How’s all?”
“Howdy, bre’r Zekle,” answered the other,
halting before the gate. “Dey’s ev’ybody
well, thankee, ceppin’ Dilsy wid dat miz’ry in
her jaw, which ’t look lack she can’t git shet
uf it. How’s all yo’ fambly?” he added in a
patronizing tone.
Before bre’r Zeke could reply old Bee—from
whose point of view forage was a question of
more pressing concern than the health of the
family—reached her head over the gate and
made a feint of chewing her master’s sleeve by
way of reminder.
“Thes look at dat critter!” cried the old man
with affectionate pride as he opened the gate
and let Bee in. “She’s a axin’ me fur her sup
per thes ez plain ez a human. Dat mule doan
lack nothin’ but speech to mek her smart ez
folks.”
He placed the bucket on the ground, and old
Bee, with famished eagerness, began to ex
plore the contents, which consisted of a piti
fully small supply of kitchen scrapirgs, such
as turnip peelings, potato skins, a handful of
meal bran, with a few bits of broken bread, etc.
“Look heer, bre’r Zekle, you ain’t foolin’
’long wid dat ole beas’ yit, is you?” cried bre’r
Edom with a disdainful glance at Bee’s hollow
sides. “You oughter hed sense enough to ’a’
knocked her in de head long ago. an’ save yo’-
se’f de Spences er keepin’ her froo de winter,
now she ain’t fitten fur de plow no mo’. Dat
truck you’se a was’en on her ev’y day wouid
keep a pig an’ give you ’n’ de ole ’oman some
good sassidges nex’ winter.”
Uncle Zeke’s mouth began to water at the
mention of “sassidges.” but he put away the
tempting thought and answered warmly:
“No, bre’r Edom, no; doan talk to me ’bout
killin’ uf ole Bee. Me ’n t’ ole ’oman ’ill hat
ter go widout sassidges a long time ’fo’ we
kills dat critter fur ’em. Times is mighty-
hard, dat’s so, but dey’ll hatter git a heap har
der fur us not to have a moufful to sheer wid
ole Bee. She done fed us an’ our chillun fur
twenty yeer an’ mo’; she’s holp mek ev’y crap
what’s ben growed on dis field sence freedom
struck de yeth. She drug de plow fur me true
an’ faithful ez long sz she was fitten to wuk,
an’ I ain’t got de heart to turn agin her now,
when she ain’t able to he’p herse’f.”
“Well, I ain’t a axin’ uf you to turn agin
her,” said bre’r Edom, disconcerted, but not
convinced by old Zeke’s homely eloquence,
“but folks inginerally does kill beas’es when
dey gits to be no ’count lack dat critter dar,
an’ you could sell her hide at de tan-yard fur
enough to buy a six-weeks pig to fatten agin
nex’ winter.”
Old Zeke shook his head. “I ain’t got de
heart to do it,” he said, with the moisture glis
tening in his eyes. “Ole Bee an’ me has done
drug de plow tergsther too long to part cum-
p’ny now, an’ dough I does hone powerful
sometimes, when we ain’t got no meat in de
house, atter a good sop er sumpen to grease
my bread wid, yef it seem lack sassidges dey-
selves would choke me, ef I knowed dey was
paid fur wid ole Bee’s hide. Dat critter,” he
continued, eyiing the sorry old jade with as
much pride as the traditional Arab is supposed
to feel in his steed, “was de fust piece er prop-
’ty ever I owned. When ole marster rented
out de lan’ to us de fust yeer atter freedom,
he tuk ole Bee, an’ be seh to me, sez he,
“Heer, Zeke, you’se always ben a keerful
niggir widanamils; I’ll trusten dis heer mule
to you to mek yo’ craps wid, an’ you can pay
me a little on her ev’y yeer, till you’se paid up
eighty-five dollar, an’ den you kin have her
furyour'n.” Bee was a peart young critter,
den, an’ one er de fines’ beas’es ever I seed.
She was horned de yeer befo’ de wah, de same
jeer when my young mass Fed, which’n he
was kilt at Gittisburg, come home fum collidge,
an’ I’se ben a plowin’ her nigh on tweuty-five
yeer, fum de time she was brake to hamiss,
till las’ fall, when she gin clean out. She was
porely all froo de summer, but she hilt on tell de
crap was laid by, an’ you reckon I'seagwinter
grudge her now a sheer er de truck she holp to
mek? Times is hard sho’ ’nough, an’ me an’
t’ole ’oman ain’ got evenuuch t’eat ourselves,
but ez long ez dar’s a scrap in de cubbud, cle
Bee shill have her sheer ut it, an’ ef I ain’ done
gone myse’f when she dies, she shill be buried
decent, lack a christium, fur I tell you what,
bre’r Edom, dar’s a many what calls deyse’vcs
christium ■*, dat wouldn’t be none de wusser
ones ef dey’d pattern a little mo’ atter ole Bee,
an’ be as faithful to dere appinted wuk as she
have ben to her’n.”
He laid his hand caressingly on Bee’s ragged
forehead and led her away towards the cabiD,
while his thrifty neighbor passed on, with a
compassionate smile at uncle Zeke’s folly.
And perhaps He who notes the sparrow’s
fall, smiled too, as He looked down into the
simple, honest soul there that did not grudge
to share its scanty store with the humblest of
His creatures! The world may count thee not
much better than thy ass, old Zeke, but in that
day when the weak things of earth shall rise
up to confound the mighty, then, perchance,
Rill thy foolishness be counted unto thee fer
wisdom. E. F. Andrews.
Posies as an Open Sesame.
[Boston Traveler.]
Said a florist the other day: “Last spring I
used to notice a couple going by here—a fine,
manly young fellow and a girl, pretty and
dainty, with lovely brown hair and dark blue
eyes. They didn’t know each other, but when
the young man went to business the girl was
sure to be somewhere around where she could
see him. She lived right around the corner
and she used to come in here and pretend to be
examining the flowers as he passed. Then she
would look up and watch him as he went down
the street. One day as he went by she looked
up and said to me, ‘Oh, what a funny bat!’ and
then carelessly, as she began picking amoDg
the flowers, ‘I wonder who he is.’ I came very
near laughing, for the previous day the young
fellow had been in to ask me who she was and
had sect her some flowers. About a week af
terward she came in with a friend and I heard
her telling the friend how somebody had been
sending her flowers every morning and she did
wish she could find out who it was.
"Well the best part of it came afterward.
One morning he came in as usual and the
gardener took him back into the conservatory.
While he was there the girl entered and stood
near the counter looking toward the window.
Presently he returned, and as he started for
the door briskly he said: ‘Well, send these
flowers, as usual, up to 24 street. Neither
knew the other was near, and hearing the num
ber of her house mentioned she turned around
and they met face to face. Well, I never saw
such an embarrassed couple in all my daj s.
She had a big Jacqueminot near her face, and
it would have been hard to tell which was red
der, the rose or her cheeke. She turned to the
flowers and he passed out. They didn’t come
any more, but not long ago I saw them going
by together. They both looked in, and when
they saw me he laughed and she blushed.”
The Clerk’s All Seeing Eyes.
During the late Christmas holidays a large
firm in B employed as an assistant clerk a
young man who was exceedingly cross-eyed.
The especial duty assigned to him was to act
as watchman and prevent the peculation of all
sorts of small fancy articles that were lying
about the counters for exhibition at that time.
One day a half grown boy came into the
store, and after looking all around, priemg first
one thing and then another, among which were
some very nice socks, he finally started to go
out of the door. At this moment the new
clerk touched him lightly on the shoulder, and,
inviting him to come to the back part of the
store, said to him politely: “Oblige me by
giving me back at once the socks that you have
in your back pocket.”
“How do you know I have any socks in my
back pocket?” demanded the boy in a bold
tone.
“I saw you put them there,” said the clerk
very gently.
The boy looked up into the young man’s face
in utter amazement. “Are you looking at me
now?” he asked earnestly. “Do you see me
this very minute?” he asked still more eames>
iy-
“Of course I do,” replied the clerk.
“Good Lord, mister!” cried the hoy with a
blanchiig face;, “here’s your socks!” And
with a bound he was out the back door, over
the fence and away, having learned a lesson
concerning all seeing eyes which it is to be
hoped he may never forget.—Philadelphia
Times.
Kindness in Its Sweetest Form.
[From the Boston Courier ]
A young lady belonging to one of the oldest
and richest families in Cambridge, who teaches
a class composed mostly of shop girls, in one of
our city Sabbath-schools, last Sunday, noticing
that one of her scholars looked unusually worn
and tired, proposed to her that she take a vaca
tion of a day, offering herself to supply her
place in the store. The girl was naturally a
little reluctant at first to accept such a sacrifice,
but was prevailed upon, and promptly at 8
o’clock the lady reported at the store for duty
and remained until its closing at 6. The fact
that the store was a confectionery establish
ment, and that as many candies as the sales
girl could eat were considered lawful perqui
sites, might at first seem to detract from the
nobleness and unselfishness of the sacrifice,
but that the position was in fact a very hard
and exacting one will appear when it is known
that the store was connected with an ice cream
saloon, and among the duties of the candy
clerk was the washing each day from 125 to 150
napkins.
A Cloak of Gold Feathers.
At the coronation of King Kalakua in 1883,
writes a correspondent from Honolulu, he wore
the royal mantle of Kamehameha I., one of
the most superb emblems of royalty ever worn
by king or kaiser. As may be supposed, it is
carefully kept at the palace. It is a semi-eir-
cuiar cloak, about four feet in length, covering
an area of twenty-five square feet when spread
out, and it is made of the small golden-hued
feathers of the O-o. These feathers, each
about the size of one’s little finger-nail, are fas
tened to a fine network of fibre, made from the
bark of the olona, overlaying each other.
There are at least 5,000 of these feathers used
in the cloak; there are but two taken from each
bird, which has to be snared in. the dense
woods, the feathers plucked and the bird re
leased; it was a crime to kill them. The birds
are by no means abundant, necessarily the
value of the cloak is very great, and the keep
ing of it an endless task. The mantle is worn
only by the reigning sovereign. Thera are
shorter capes and cloaks worn by Allies or
chiefs, their length being regulated by the rank
of the wearer.
Good Rules to Follow.
First, be honest and truthful. All depends
upon this.
If you have work to do, do it cheerfully.
If you go out on business, attend to the mat
ter promptly, and then promptly go about yonr
business.
Don’t stop to tell stories.
If you have a place of business, be there dur
ing business hours.
No one can get rich by sitting around stores
and saloons.
If you have to labor for a living, remember
that one hour in the morning is belter than two
at night.
Do not meddle with any business you know
nothing of.
A good business habit and reputation are al
ways money.
Be obliging.
Do not be in too great haste to get rich.
Do not spend time in idleness.
Be kind.
Learn to say no. There is no necessity of
snapping It out, but say it firmly and respect
fully.
Learn to think and act for yourself.
Keep ahead rather than behind time, for it is
easier to keep ahead than to catch up.
Be valiant.
Help others when you can.
An Oculist’s Advice.
Keep a shade over your lamp or gas-burner.
Never read or sew directly in front of the
light, window or door.
It is best to let the light fall from above,
obliquely over the left shoulder.
Never sleep so that on first wakening the eyes
shall open on the light of a window.
Never begin to read, write or sew for several
minutes after coming from darkness to light.
Do not use the eyesight by light so scant that
it requires an effort to discriminate, whether
twilight, moonlight, or on cloudy days.
Finally, the moment you are instinctively
prompted to rub your eyes, that moment stop
using them.
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