About The sunny South. (Atlanta, Ga.) 1875-1907 | View Entire Issue (Nov. 12, 1887)
THE 8UNISY SOUTH, ATLANTA, GA., SATURDAY MORNING, NOVEMBER 12, 1887. HOMELESS THOUGH AT HOME; Thi Story ot i Won's Lite. u ir*9 "AWL* FRENCH SWISHER. CHAPTER I. zly hair, and slippers down at the heels; but she did not dare to say so. “Why don’t you go to work?” asked Mr. Bright, harshly. “Are you waitiDg for a whipping? If so you will get one presently.” Martha was very angry. She caught up the dish-pan with a gesture that brought her mother to her side in a twinkling, and gained for herself a sharp slap on 1 he face. She gave a howl of pain and commenced pouring out the dish-water. This she placed on the table and began slowly to wash the pile of dishes wait ing there. Meanwhile her thoughts ran thus: “It is a pleasure for Jenny to wash dishes. Her mother says so sweetly: ‘Jenny, your dish-water is getting cold. Hurry up, my love, and you shall have a kiss.’ O, dear! I wish my mother would die and some good woman would take me, for I am so terrible misera ble here.” Just then a little black-eyed girl, about six years old, came running into the room, swing ing a broken doll by one arm. “I have got your doll, Martha!” she ex claimed. “It’s mine now. Ma says you shan’t have it no more.” Martha resisted the temptation to slap her in the mouth, and turned away without a word. But the tears came in spite of her, and “Yes, I’ve got lot’s of folks, but they are so I ^ dishes grew so dim that she could scarcely mean they won’t let me love them I’ve got a ; sfie thpm - home that a’n’t any home and friends that isn’t no friends.” Home to a child should be a sacred spot Where care, and doubt, and discontent are not a haven ol sweet rest. And should It early prove the world untrue, O, mother, let It tru.tlnu come to you And weep upon your breast. I wish I was dead” exclaimed little Martha Bright, rocking violently back and forth in her father’s great arm chair. A small, pale-faced child, who chanced to be passing the open window, heard the ex pression, and paused with the question: “What makes you wish such dreadful things, Mattie?” , , “Because I hate myself and everybody elsel” cried the one addressed. “I hope I shan’t feel so when I get to be ten years,” remarked the little maiden. “May be you won’t, Jennie Summers. I hope not. I wouldn’t if I had anybody to love me like you have.” The blue eyes of the girl outside opened wider at this announcement, and she ex claimed: T , “Why! you’ve got more than me. I ve onlv got father and mother and Joe, and they a’n't my own folks either.” 'You are a queer girl to talk so,” said Jenny. “What is the matter now?” “May broke my doll to-day. She went into iuy room when I was at school anu got it; and mother took her part, too. She said I ought to keep my things out of her way. And father swore and said he wouldn t lay out any more money on dolls for me. , It wasn t mv fault either. O, dear! 0, dear. “Oh! don’t cry,” said the sympathetic Jenny. “I’ll tell you what to do. 1 ray that God will give you religion.” “I don’t want religion. I want my doll. Mother has got religion, and it makes her sour ““Sotasmy mother, but it makes her awful sweet. I try hard to get it, but it wont come. Mother says I don’t try haid enough. “If I was as good as you I would let reli gion alone,” commented Martha. Mother prays every morning for strength, and I guess it’s strength to whollop me, for she is sure to be at it before night.” . , “I think it can’t be the right kind of reli gion,” said Jenny thoughtfully. “I don’t know. I don’t like the kind she has got. and don’t want none of it. “Well, I must go,’ sighed Jenny. Moth er is waiting for this milk I’ve got; and she don’t like it if I am gone long. “Let her lump it, then,” grunted Martha, who was in an undutiful mood. "Oh! no, I wouldn’t. I don t like^ to have her displeased with me. Good bye. The little fairy danced away, and Martha was again alone. “I wonder why I can t be good like her,” she sighed. I could if every body didn’t make me mad, and say such hateful things to me. I try so often, but I can’t no bow I would like to be loved and patted like she is, but try mv best I am a mean child any wav, and there is no use of trying as I see. I a’n't pretty like her, either,” viewing her frowning face in a mirror opposite. “She has got nice yeher curls, while my hair is fox-colored, and curls like a pound of candles, John says. Mother says my eyes look like two grey buttons swimming in a saucer of lard. I don’t see what I had to have big eyes for. Then John says that I am so fat that he lias to look twice to see whether I am laying: down or standing up. Bit he needn’t talk. I a’n’t any uglier than him, no how.” , The great dreamy eyes wandered restlessly to the window again, and grew softer in ex pression as they rested on a familiar form across the street. “My Sunday-school teacher!” she whis pered softly to herself. .“She says weshall all be beautiful in Heaven, and she is good and don t lie.” The wild storm of passion had spent itself, and the better portion of her nature began to reign. “Let the old doll go,” she mused. “I shall be a woman some time, and have a husband and babies, mother says. Father says that it will be a good riddance when I am eld enough to get married, if I can find any one mean en0hz,» \tiiave ■flier' '.THW tt&n “irl joab-trer- parents’ meaningless satire, and the vents of their ill humor in earnest, and made herself very miserable over them.) I suppose every girl has got to get married. Father says that is what they are made for. It seems to me that a girl ought to be made for something as well as boys, but I suppose they a’n’t. I wish I was a boy.” “I)o you?” said a well-known voice at the window. It was her mischievous brother John who spoke. It was early spring. Mr. Bright was in the kitchen-yard preparing some beds for early vegetables. Mrs. Bright was in the kitchen doing up a week’s cooking, and the younger children were playing on the door-step. Mar tha had left them all at the supper-table, and had slipped away to give vent to her feelings alone. The house wah in a pleasant little vil lage (what one it matters not). Its front win dows overlooked a street, which it stood very ■..ear, and from which it was not fenced. At one side was a liower-yard, separated by a high fence from the vegetable garden. John hail been sent in search of his sister, but in stead of looking through the rooms, he had slipped around to the front, that he might peep in at the windows and see what she was doing. “You are a silly girl to be always talking to yourself. Nobody but fools gab to themselves,” he said. “I can’t help it if I am a fool,” she answered and began to cry. “There, there, baby ” “Go away, I don’t want to talk to you,” she cried. “l’shaw! Take some candy and make up, sis.” As he spoke he reached out a small stick of fiomettiiug white, which the little girl grasped eagerly and crammed into her mouth, without a second glance at it. The next minute she was gagging and chok ing, while John was laughing loudiy. “April fool!” he exclaimed. “You are a mean, good-for-nothing fellow, and I hate you!” she gasptd. “April fool!’’ he retorted. “Don’t know a tallow candle from candy. Don t you wish you was a boy, sis?” “No, I don’t. Boys are mean scamps, and I wouldn’t be one if I could.” “’Cause yon can’t! ’Cause you cant! he mocked; and away he went. “I’ll throw scalding water on him, the next time he comes into the kitchen,” said the girl, grinding her teeth from sickness and rage. “Martha! Martha!” called a voice from an other part of the house. - “Martha! Martha!” repeated the child spitefully, "I have got the ugliest name in the world, and he makes it a thousand times worse the way he speaks it. . My Sunday school teacher always says ‘Mattie’1” “Martha! Martha!” called the voice again in angry tones; and she arose and went to the kitchen. A siim, dark-haired man met her at the door with an oath. “Where have you been?” he asked. “In the sitting-room, sir.” “What were you doing there?” “Nothing.” m “Do I keep you to do nothing, miss? Here are your dishes waiting to be washed this hour. Your mother says she can do nothing with you.” ‘•She is sulking about that doll,” put in a small, thin-faced woman who was frying cakes over a hot stove, “As soon as I get time, 111 take the sulks out of her.” “Why didn't you come when I sent John ai- ter vou?” asked the father. “He didn’t tell me,” was the answer. “Hear her lief” commented the mother. “I don’t lie!” cried the child with Hashing eyes “John didn’t say you wanted me. “What did he say then?” “He came and gave me some stuff that he said was candy, but it was nasty tallow candle and it puked me. Then he run off lau„hin a and crying ‘April fool’ at me. , , “I should think he would,” laughed her father. “A girl that don’t know tallow from candy ought to be made fun of. “She worries the life out of me,” said Mrs. Bright, holding a great cake on a fork todrain “Just look at her now! There is the Witch of Eudorforyou. Look at her dirty face, and and untied shoes and sulky actions. Martha thought that her mother looked equally bad in her greasy dress, with her friz- see them. “She’s snuffing ^bout it,” said the little one, with a laugh. “Let her snuttts,” was the mother’s re sponse. May held up the doll with a mocking laugh, and said to her sister: “Ma is going to glue Polly’s head on, and she’ll be as nice as ever, but she won’t be yourn. See what you got by making a fuss.” Like lightning came a flash of anger in the older girl’s eyes. “I hate you,” she hissed between her set teeth. A slap from her mother’s hand prevented her from saying more, but she thougnt a good deal. CHAPTER II. No cage is so small, but a wild bird will sing At the dawn of a beautiful day; No fetter so strong on a poet’s light wing But he often goes soaring away. Children, who are “picked on” at home, generally meet with the same treatment abroad. Martha Bright was not an exception to this rule At school—everywhere, she was made the butt of ridicule. Being proud and very sensitive by nature, she shrank from those who made her the subject of rude jests, and every day lived more in and with herself. She was a great dreamer, too—a day-dreamer. Never was she so happy as when alone in one of those glorious dreams. Then she lived an ideal life. She forgot herself, the harshness of her parents, and the thoughtless cruelty of her companions. She made an ideal world, and peopled it with angels, herself the brightest and fairest of them all. She told of these things to herself, as a beautiful story, and as she talked, her voice grew strangely low and sweet, and her great grey eyes lit up until her plain face grew radiant with loveli ness. But if some one looked in upon her with a rude jest, her expression again grew sombre, her voice harsh, and that look of care and “don’t care,” so painful to see on a child’s face, came back. She lived two lives, and neither were true ones. She seemed moreover to have a double naturn. When she soared away into the ideal world, her soul expanded until she felt as if she could grasp the universe in the great love that filled her bosom. Then she bowed in holy reverence to the good, the pure and the true, and felt that nature’s God reigned in and about her. Then she lived in music and sunshine, the most musical and sunny thing in that ideal world. Back earth ward again, and the sunshine, music and love fled from her, and she saw about her only jarring and discordant voices, her own the most horrible of all. “She is a strange, unlovable child,” people said, even those who knew her best. But a few days after the opening of our story, a trav eling phrenologist looked into her dreamy, grey eyes, and in answer to her mother’s ques tion, “Will she ever be worth her salt?” re plied: “Madam, your child is a genius—a born jjqet. Soma.(las, if I mistake not, the world will lrfbic up to her Xjs a strSiIg^ij giftou wo man.” The little girl waited to hear no more. With a wildly throbbing heart, she hid in her own little room and said the professor’s words over and over to herself. A glorious light had burst upon her—a light that all the clouds of sorrow and misfortune would never entirely obliterate. Henceforth she had an aim in life. She would strive to become what the professor had said she might be. Poor child! she did not know how much care and sorrow it takes to bring out the real poetry of our natures; how much she would suffer and how life-weary she would be before the world would acknowl edge her talents. “If everybody was only like my Sunday- school teacher,” she would say, “I conld be such a good girl and do so much.” But everybody was not like sweet Mrs. Frisby. Miss Clark, the teacher of the day- school, was an ignorant, vain creature. (In those days very little education sufficed for the teacher of a common school ) She hated Mar tha and made her school time as disagreeable as were her hours at home. But Martha liked study. Young as she was, she knew that she needed an education in order to achieve any future greatness, and she was trying hard to gain one. One evening, as the teacher was about to close her school for the day, she said to the pupils: “Every one of you that can write, must have a composition for Wednesday. I want some of you to try poetry. I like poetry bel ter than any thing else.” Martha went home like one in a dream. Here was a chance for her to commence. She wi uld have a poem for the Wednesday read ing. As soon as she could get away from those everiasiiDg dinner dishes which were always left for her to wash, she procured a pencil and a bit of paper and stole away to her room. Beneath her wmduw was a patch of grass, just pushing its green spears upward into the spring sunshine; and while she thought on what sub ject she would write, a fly came buzzing around her head. “It’s spring now—nice, pretty spring. I’ll just write about it,” she mused. She surely did not know how often that theme had been done to death, or she might have chosen another. Was there ever a newly fledged poet, who did not give the world or some editor’s waste baskets poem on spring? Martha’s poem is given here verbatim et lit eratim: SPRING. Spring Is the pertlest seson of the yere our water Is gone what wos so drere and fl ze air beginning to apear and me grass is sprouting everywhere. the flours afr very nice and sweet the Boys air playing in the strete And gurls can wonce more have bare feat which Is comfortable If not so neie. tbe Flag is flying trom the cort house steple saying Hurraw to all the peepel The birds are saying funny words And 1 am Happy as well as me birds. our old boss is giving nlceyeller milk and caffeys bair Is soft as silk tbe Boosters are kackllng In tbe barn and all tbe gurls are spinning strete yarn it Is awl because the son Is so warm And winter can do us no more harm Spring makes everything nearly crazy ’cepting lolks and tha git lazy. My teacher says there Is another spring and that won death will surely bring and tbe gurl that mads the bible and prays Will have It won if these dais. The little girl thought her production per fect, and was proud and happy at having ac complished so much. Wednesday afternoon came, and in due time Martha was called upon to read her com position. With a beating heart she walked up the isle and took her place on the platform. It was her first composition—the first time she had ever stood on the platform to read anything. She tried to appear self-possessed, but the letters ran together so that she could scarcely distinguish a word. “Why don’t you go on?” demanded Miss “Spr-spr-spring,” stuttered Martha, and here her heart came right into her throat and choked her. The children began to snicker. “Go on, I say,” commanded the teacher. “Spr-spr-spring—” again began Martha, and a load laugh now filled the room. The teacher grew angry. “Mary Morse,” she said, “come here and see if yon can read this dunce’s composition.” A tall girl, with wicked black eyes, came forward and took the paper from Martha’s hand. That she was bent on mischief, all of the school could see in her face. She began in a loud, clear voice: - ■ n i “spring.” . . . “Spring is the jhe-r-t-i-e-s-t prettiest s-e-s-o-n season of the y-e-r-e year,” spelling the mis spelled words as she read. “Our winter is gone what w-o-s was so d-r-e-r-e drear.” The children were laughing still more loudly now, and Martha’s face was crimson with shame. “Never mind spelling it,” said the teacher. “Read on.” Mary stuttered her way through it, keeping the children in a constant roar of laughter by her rendering of the production. When it was concluded, Miss Clark said .- “That poetry was stolen. I have the same thing in an old reader.” “It is a lie 1" cried the little girl, with wild ly flashing eyes. “I did write it; and Mary Morse is mean thing to read it the way she read it I hate you both!” Like a tiger the teacher sprang from her chair, and Martha, knowing what was coming, made a bound from the platform and ran down tbe aisle as fast as her feet could carry her. Miss Clark followed in close pursuit, but Mar tha was quicker than she, and consequently distanced her. Up the street the child went, without bonnet or tippet, her hair flying wildly in the breeze and her little heart beating so loudly that she could hear its throbblngs—hoping that her pa rents would do her justice, if they did not give her sympathy. CHAPTER III. Our souls, like some sweet Instrument, May be In tune to please, Ami would give Heavenly melody Should angels touch the keys; Bur If upon the silent board Bude, untaught bands descend, Tnen discord’s horrid, jarring notes Tne air will quickly rend. “Why, Martha, it can’t be that school is out! It is only three o’clock.” It was Mrs. Bright who spoke, the little girl having just made her appearance at the outer door of her home. A lie trembled on Martha’s lips. It was very easy to answer that the teacher had let it out earlier than usual; but second thought as sured her that the falsehood would soon be found out, and she resolved to tell the whole truth, if her mother would let her do it. But before she could reply her mother began again. “Where on earth is your things? What have you come home for, with your hair flying like a wild Indian's and no bonnet on? You have been in some meanness, I know. An swer me, I say!” The child, now seriously alarmed, stam mered out: “I run away from school, mother.” “Run away from school did yon? I’ll teach you to run away from school!” Her hand was already on the black-snake whip, with which the girl was made acquainted. “O, mother, don’t whip me! It wasn’t my fault! I couldn’t help it! I—I—” Down came the cruel lash on the white shoulders, and Martha threw her arms up with a low cry. “You are a good-for-nothing, miserable child!” cried Mrs. Bright, pausing at last from sheer exhaustion. “You will be in State’s prison one of these days, if you keep on. It you don’t behave I’ll whip the life clean out of you! Now get your other bonnet and tramp back to school in double quick time!” Martha went sullenly to the closet for the article, thinking that she would run away and die in the woods before she would go back to that school again. But her mother was too smart for her. She immediately prepared her self to accompany her daughter. “I wish there would come an earthquake, like they used to have, and swallov me up!” said Martha to herself as she walked alon^by her mother’s side. “I would rather die than to go back there. Ob! how I hate both of them! I wish that I could kill them!” It was a wicked wish, but the child was much sinned against, and she had not yet learned the lesson of submission The school house was reached at last, and the two entered. “I have brought this naughty child back,” said Mrs. Bright to the teacher. Miss Clatk smiled sweetly, though she ached inwardly to get her hands on the little girl. “I’m sorry,” she said in return, “that 1 should have such trouble with any child; but no person shall call me a liar. " “Did she call you a liar?” asked Mrs. Bright, flashing an angry glance on Martha. “Yea, m»Aam; she caUed^nie a lia ’When I went to punish her she ran awa; and liar, away. Mrs. Bright turned aDgrily to Martha, say ing: “If I had known this before, Miss, you would have got a little more of that raw-hide.” “I did write the verses,” said the little girl, “and she said I stole them.” “What verses?” asked the mother. “The composition verses,” answered Mar tha. “There they are on the desk now.” Mrs. Bright made a grab for the piece of soiled paper. Opening it she read it carefully through. “Did you say that Martha stole this?” she asked of the teacher when she had finished the perusal. “Yes, ma’am. It is the brain-work of an old English author. I can’t think of his name just now.” “He must have been a plaguey fool if he wrote this trash,” remarked her visitor. Trash! This was a w irse blow than the first to tbe child. Her eyes flashed and so did Mies Clark’s. “I consider myself a good judge of poetry,” said the latter stiffly. “I consider yuu a fool,” returned Mrs. Bright. “Madam!” cried the teacher in anger. “Yes Miss Clark. There was a traveling chap about here awhile ago who said Martha was a born poet, and since then she has been scribbling. This is some of her nonsense, aud if you don’t know enough to know it you had better go to school and learn something.” She tore the offending paper in two as she spoke and cast it on the floor; hut Martha gathered the pieces carefully up and put them in her bosom. To her the article was a pre cious thing. She wanted her Sunday-school teacher to pass judgment on it before it was cast aside “Madam, I will not be insulted!” exclaimed the teacher in a rage. “Your child is a good for-nothing, impudent piece, and I can’t say as I am surprised when I see the mother." “Martha,” said Mrs. Bright to the little girl, “you may come home with me. There is no use in your going to school here when you know more than the teacher.” And she flirted out of the house, followed by the child in whose heart was a strange mingling of joy and sorrow. Martha was glad that her mother had looded into the matter and had taken her from school; but at the same time she felt humili ated because her mother considered her verses trash. Only the hope of Mrs. Frisby’s appro bation buoyed her up in this new trouble. “I shall have lots of time to write and study at home,” she thought as she walked silently along by her mother. But in this she was dis appointed. Her mother concluded to let her do all the housework that she could handle and take a little rest herself by doing up the family sewiDg. The consequence was that Manna’s hours were so fully employed that it took two weeks to get the poem copied in a presentable form for her teacher, who she felt sure would praise it. But again she was disappointed. Mrs. Fris by was just as well as kind. “Mv little girl,” said she when she had read the effort over, “you have got talent and will make a good writer some day, if I mistake not; but you have got a great deal to learn first. Do you remember when you began learning to sew? There were certain rules to observe; and, though you tried hard, your work was a miserable botch. It took much practice before you got to be even a plain sewer, and you are still an inferior one. So with writing. There are certain rules to be observed. These you must learn; and then you will need years of experience before you are even a passable writer.” “How many years will it take to make me a good writer providing I study hard?” asked Martha. “Twenty, at the least calculation,” was the reply. Twenty years! What an age to a child! No wonder that Martha went home thor oughly discouraged and with an inward resolve to try no more. [to be continued.] FITS: All Fits stopped free by Dr. Klines’ Great Nerve Restorer. No Fits after first day’s use. Marvelous cures. Treatise and $2.00 trial bottle free to Fit cases. Send to Dr. Kline, 931 Arch street, Philadelphia, Pa. For the Sunny South. %' ‘ THE SPIRIT OF POETRY. BY JAKES SEED DILLS. Once, while bints of gates supernal - Jeweled Maytlme’s orient skies, And the earth. In beauty vernal, Spread, another paradise; That divine elusive Spirit— Which doth through all nature yield Spells of grace she doth Inherit— Haunted woodland, height and held. Yet, to him so bold to wander, Gazing, calling on her name, It were marvellous If he found her— It were rhapsody and fame. Hers were lineaments entrancing, And immortal truths untold; Bnt through son and shadow glancing Glides her evanescent monld. In a lone book-bnrdened garret Bent a young Philosopher, Murmuring: “I * ill find that Spirit, I will know and talk with her,- I, the worldly deeds discerning. Shall my songs and barplngs strow, Till my songs succeed by learning, And my fame by singing grow.” Stralgbtwajithen, all nnlmpassloned, Took he Jkf a clumsy tool; Slowly man queer harp, fashioned After phgsSsiDhlc ru e; This be falWSould perfect, stringing With the efiords a master lent— Took a t*xt-book—sidewise flinging, Took bis hybrid instrument; And, departing from his garret. Leaving totui and highway wide; Went he seeking that sweet spirit Through che fair tree country side; Singing, calling—harping, calling. On through woodland, vale and lea; From his open text-book bawling Forth bis dear philosophy. F”t before, tbe copses thrldding, Veiled from that Philosopher, Lithe a vague shape from his bidding Wound with noiseless tread and stir; Flitting through the vale and meadow, And the bowery woodland ways, Out of sunlight. Into shadow. Fled the Spirit fair apace. Up through leafy lanes and hollows, And the flewery wilderness. Bing the flocks—a shepherd follows, Clad In simple country dress; In Ms bearing, Independent, Is no weight of bookish things; But bis grand eyes roll resplendent With their high imaginings. See! he bares bis forebead. Straying Over odorous uplands fair, Come the light winds; and, delaying, Toss Ms tressv shining bair. Now he views a flower that glistens, Holding np a crop of dew; Now he lingers, now he listens. As if wisdom sweet he drew. Drops tbe blight baptismal air On his broad brow as be stac ds; Bends the calm sky as, In prayer, Hollow, consecrating bands. To a brooklet, clearly winding, Goes tbe sbepberd. dreamily. Cuts and shapes a bright reed, binding Pipe to pipe In harmony. Far tbe flock-bells peal their pleasance; But tbe sbepberd muses—and Quick divines a spirit presence, And goes ntping throueh tbe land. Airy footsteps tripping fleetly GlancaUajmeet Mm on tbe lea; Waves anwtilue; low and sweetly, ’Mid tee pted-pipes melody, Down tbe pebbled, rocky vaileys Floats a laugh of joy; among Leafy walijpof sylvan alleys Bevelayon comes In song; And tbe sbepberd ceases playing— Sits beneath a hoary tree; And, the dreamy spell obeying, Drops the reed-pipes on Ms knee; Lulling silence falls—benignly Steals a spirit dim—and now Fi'ls the spaee, draws close—and, kindly Lays her laurels ou his brow. Kiver Hill, Sept. 19, 18-7 THE GREAT WORTH. He’s a Tyrant and tne Women Perfectly Adore Him. [From a Paris Letter.] In spite of tbe rise of many dressmakers in Paris who have a certain hold on the fashiona ble world for a space and threaten the suprem acy of the chief cornerstone of fashion, M. Worth remains, as he has for nearly twenty- five years, at the very head. Parisians are never tired of telling stories of his wealth, his luxuries aud his caprices. As to his whims, he could give a prima donna poiDts. Not long ago a customer went to him, whom he kept on her feet for two hours walking up and down and posing before him, while he draped all manner of fabrics about her shoul ders, pinned anijr unpinned, experimented with numerous combinations, aud finally flung ev erything down, declared he was not in the mood for composition and, telling her to “wait,” went out and banged the door. After some three-quarters of an hour he returned. Whether he had been asleep or had had lunch eon she never knew, but came back fresh and buoyant and declared he had an idea at last. That, he, espari- mented a bit, uiaotr hex. warn up and down while his assistant played the “Invitation to the Waltz” on the piano, and finally dashed at her, whirled everything about into a differ ent position and said: “Madame, I have dis covered you at last. You are the ‘Invitation to the Waltz ’ ” She went home exhausted and raging, but she admits the gown was, when it came home, “a dream.” If he does not know anything about a wom an he generally refuses to dress her at all. He prefers only to make for distinguished people, but even with these he is perfectly arbitrary. One will say, “I want une robe princesse with bouffants Louis XV.” He replies, dryly: “I receive instructions from no one. I dress madame. 1 shall make a Louis XIII skirt, with Medici bodice and collar,” and she takes that or doesn’t get anything. If she suggests red, he is sure to make it blue; if she says “velvet is becoming to me,” he replies: “I shall make you a superb corsai e of satin.” An actress went to him the other day and asked for a ptarl-gray costume. “For what do you take me?” he cried. “Grise perle is no longer worn; I shall not make it of gray.” When she insisted he simply showed her the door. Killed by Her Husband and Her Son at Her Own Request. [St. Louis Globe-Democrat.] Ottawa, Can., Oct. 22.—Advices received by the Government here from Edmonton, Northwest territories, in connection with the preliminary investigation into the murder of Mrs. Marie Courtereille, by her husband and step-son, disclose one of the most inhuman crimes ever reported in the far West. John Ward, sou-iu-Maw of the elder prisoner, testi fied that he was living near the prisoners at Lesser Slave Lake. Early in July last Mrs. Courtereille showed symptoms of insanity, and, as he alleges, begged of her relatives to kill her, as she was about to become a canni bal, and was possessed of an evil spirit that impelled her to kill and eat human beings. To prevent her doing injury it was attempted, according to Ward’s story, to keep her tied for twenty days, but she repeatedly got loose. One night, however, about the beginning of September, Ward, who was sleeping in Cour- tereille’s house, was awakened by the woman, who had unloosed her fetters and was choking the old man. When spoken to she bellowed like a wild animal. She was secured, and asked to be killed; otherwite she would kill aud eat them. The husband and step-son re plied that they could cot kill her, as they loved her, but finally agreed to pray for her. She again appealed to them to take her life, as she said she could not resist the evil spirit within her, and would certainly kill and eat them all if they did not do as she said. Fearing her threats would be carried into execution, father and son agreed to despatch her, and, securing an axe, they carried out their terrible determi nation, burying the body immediately The prisoners are now both confined in Fort Sask atchewan waiting trial. SPURGEON’S SECESSION. The Withdrawal of the Famous Di vine from the Baptist Com munion. London, October 30.—Never before could Spurgeon’s Tabernacle have been so densely crowded as I found it this morning. Doubt less all Amerioan.tonrists are well acquainted with the immense structure on the "Surrey side of London. The vast amphitheatre ex hibited “parterres” of very brilliant toilets and black coats. The large side platform was also crowded, and Mr. Spurgeon officiated from another smaller side platform. He grows stouter every year and seems in excellent health and spirits. There is a fine organ, but no choir, the congregation singing like an im mense, but untrained chorus. Mr. Spurgeon spoke as usual without notes, sometimes resting his left hand on the back of a chair, but often stepping forward, grasping the rail and leaning over as in familiar con verse. The texts were Zephaniah, iii, 16, 17, and 18: 16 —In that day it shall be said to Jerusalem: Fear thou not; and to Zion: let not thy bands be slack. 17.—The Lord thy God in the midst of thee is mighty; He will save, He will rejoice over thee with joy; He will rest in His love; He will joy over thee with singing. 18—I will gather them that are sorrowful, for the solemn assembly, who are of thee, to whom the reproach of it was a burden. The great concourse expected personal ref erence to his recent manifesto, but was griev ously disappointed, as he proceeded with a single reference to himself, except to sav that on next Thursday he would leave for sometime on a holiday, as his health was somewhat bro ken. His son is to take his place. He de clined to say where he was going, as he wished to secure perfect rest. The sermon was not remarkable, but was mainly upon the thesis of the great comfort and joy in practical religion. After the sermon certainly fifty hearers vis ited the pastor in his room and nearly all gave short messages of comfort and expressed sat isfaction with his recent course. Presently, accepting the Herald’s corres pondent’s card, he said, laughing- “No, my holiday will not be in America, where I never have been and never expect to go, because I am too busy here, but where I have beloved friends and correspondents, whose approval of my recent course I shall be glad to hear. I said nothlog about it to-day because I prefer always to give personal explanations in a newspaper, such as you can see in the denom inational Sword and Trowel, in the coming No vember issue of which I say .much. But, doubtless, all that is worth knowing as to my movements and reasons has already been ca bled to tbe Herald.” Other inquirers coming up, he made similar remarks to each. Mingling with the congre gation still going out I heard nothing but ex pressions of confidence in the pastor’s course, which was really taken with the prior approv al of the officers of the congregation. Mr. Spurgeon's withdrawal from the Baptist Union causes as much sensation in non-con formist circles as Lord Salisbury’s withdrawal from the Cabinet would in political circles One of the organs of the eetablished church says: It is a fine example always when a good man opposes himself against the spirit of the age and does battle temporarily, without angry words. Whether his cause be right or wrong is of small importance when the instincts of the hero are good. The essential print is that he delivers his protest and holds the field with dignity. Mr. Spurgeon’s declaration of faith is model. He does not blame the Union for har boring errors, because, so far as he can see, it is powerless to help itself. The preacher’s common sense is shown most conspicuously in his refusal to start a new denomination. He declines to be made a prophet to the rest. Dr. John Clifford, Vice President of the Baptist Union, well known in America, was interviewed to-day on the subject. He said: “It is clear that, like Luther, Mr. Spurgeon feels that he can do naught else than withdraw. Conscience bids him, and he obeys. All our traditional Baptist principles constrain us to honor Mr. Spurgeon for his unswerving fideli ty to his conv.ction of duty, and to believe that, though the act be for the moment un speakably hurtful, yet if the truth gain all will gain, the Baptist Union included.” “Mr. Spurgeon accompanies his retirement with the following six allegations: That some persons are allowed to remain in the Union who make light of the atonement, deny the personality of the Holy Ghost, call the fall a fable, speak of justification by faith as im moral, refuse credence to the dogma of tbe plenary inspiration of the Holy Scriptures, -aril hold that the>e rT another-probation after death with possibilities of a future restitution of the lost. Mr. Spurgeon says that all un ions begin to look like confederacies of evil. This is a grave charge indeed. Take the Brit ish Baptist Union on!); it consists of two thousand churches, with pastors and com muning members of over two hundred thou sand. Are these churches and pastors federa ted together in the Union in evil? Mr. Spur geon states his case with great energy; bnt what does he prove? No books are cited; no sermons are quoted; no papers read at the Union are put in evidence; no addresses given at its meetings are advanced; not a solitary man, not a solitary church is named.” After defending the Union at great length and in good temper, the reverend gentleman concluded thus: “But supposing Mr. Spur geon really had a case and his indictment could be proved, is his withdrawal the best service that can be rendered—not to the Bap tist Union only—but to the kingdom of heaven, for which the Baptist Union exists? Chris tian scholars have their contest. The Old Testament is being put into a lire heated to sevenfold fierceness, and the newer record is stilluncoi8umedin aburningtushof criticism. Church builders see the old politics and orders changing, and scarcely know what way to take with the social difficulties that rise at a hundred points at once. This surely, of all times, is not the hour for div sion. Every soldier is wanted; not an ounce of power can be spaied.” Hecipe for Doughnuts. Take three pounds of flour, one pound of butter, one and a half pounds of sugar, cut the butter fine into the flour; beat six eggs light and put them in; add two wineglasses of yeast, one pint of milk, some cinnamon, mace and nutmeg; make it up into a light dough and put it to rise; when it is light enough, roll out the paste, cut it in small pieces and boil them in lard. Above all other earthly ills, I hate the big, old-fashioned pills; By slow degrees they downward wend, And often pause, or upward iend; With such discomfort are they fraught, Their good effects amount to naught. Now, Dr. Pietce pre; aras a pill. That just exactly fills the bill— A Pellet, rather, that is all— A Pleasant Purgative, and sma’l; Just try them as you feel their rtte 1, You’ll find that I speak truth, indeed. Sylvanus Cobb, the novelist, said in his will: “Let no blackness of crape or funeral weeds cast its gloom upon my memory. I would that my beloved ones should seek the bright ness and fragrance of faith and trust in God rather than the gloom which belongs to doubt and uLrest.” 1 Bartley Campbell’s physicians pronounce his mental condition as such as to give little hopes for his recovery. While he may improve he will never be restored to usefulness. Wrap-Up->Tis-Tail” is the odd name of one of the rebellious Crow chiefs on the Big Horn. There is no hope for an Indian who flaunts such a name as that in the face of our civiliza tion. ‘Can you tell me,” wrote Mabel, “what I can do to change the color of my hair? It is red, and I am afraid to use a dye.” “Get rich,” wrote the editor in reply, “and the newspapers will change it to auburn or spun gold.” The king of Spain, now 17 months old, com mands a salary of §1,000,900 a year, and yet there are times when he would give it all for one bottle of paregoric. Western Settler’s Chosen Specific. With every advance of emigration into the far West, a new demand is created for Hos tetter’s Stomach Bitters. Newly peopled re gions are frequently less salubrious than older settled localities, on account of the miasma which rises from recently cleared land, par ticularly along the banks of rivers that are subject to freshets. The agricultural or min ing emigrant soon learns, when he does not already know, that the Bitters afford the only sure protection against malaria, and those disorders of the stomach, liver and bowels to which climatic changes,exposure, and unaccus tomed or unhealthy water or diet subject him. Consequently, he places an estimate upon this great household specific and preventive com mensurate with its intrinsic merits, and is care ful to keep on hand a restorative and promoter of health so implicitly to be relied upon in time of need. “General depression” is what ails the whisky trade, it is said. That is tbe only kind of trade depression of which the country cannot have too much. A CARD. To all who are suffering from the errors and Indiscretions of youth, nervous weakness, early decay, loss of manhood, Ac., I will send a recipe that will cure you, FREE OF CHARGE. This great remedy was discovered by a missionary in South America. Send a self-addressed envelope to the Rev. .toseih T. Inman. Station D. York City* Ruth—A Picture. [W. K. Pabor in Denver Republican. ] So. in sooth, This is Bath I Ruth, of all the flock the flower, Fairest in the household Dower Where all otner ones are fair; Laughing eyes and shining nair, Lips and cheeks with bloom aglow, Eyes that tender glances throw— Eager eyes, whose babv gleams Still seem full of Eden dreams— yes, in truth, This Is Ruth. Ho, in so»th. This is Ruth I Sweeter than the Ruth of old la tne tender story told Of the one amid the leaves Gathering the golden sheaves; But this Rath her sheaf ot wheat Finds all gathered at her feet, lDQCcent and undtfiied Mother-love encrowns the child. Yes, in truth, This is Ruth. So,in sooth. This .s Rum I Sun, whose endless circles shine, Crown her with bright rays ot thine; Moon, whose mellow lustre moves, Lead her into sinless grooves; Stars, whose solemn light refines, Touch her life with loving lines; Sun aud moon aud stars in oue Loving circle round tier rU n. Yes. iu troth, BtiiQe for— Rath! That Russell W Oman. [San Francisco Post ] “My dear,” said a Mission-street woman to her husband, “I need §17 for a new sacque.” “Then you'll have to need, because I haven’t got it to spare.” “I Buppoee not, you spend so much money in saloons that your family go short.” “I don’t.” “Oh, yes you do. Mrs. Russell told me ias' week that when her husband was out late one night ho confessed to her that it was you who led him astray, and kept him out having or.e more. ” “She did, did she? Well, the next time yo. I have a gossipping match with that old crow i you tell her that I was at rny office when I go*, j a note to come down to the jail and bail her | sweet husband out, and that he was locked up for insulting respectable women. I had to rush around two hours to dig up the money and twenty of it he owes me now for his fine.” “Why, my darling, is that ttue? I forgive you, dear, and you deedn’t mind about that §17. It’s worth more than that to crow over that Russell woman with her six-bit silk dress and a bonnet that would be too giddy for pickle-factory girl.” Train Hand—See here! where are you going with that ax? Passenger—Keep cool, young man. We stop for sandwiches at the next station. “Charlie,” said a yonng wife, “is there real ly any such person as the fool-killer?” “Oh, I guess not; I don’t know,” said Char ley, who was reading the morning paper. “Well, Charley, all I wanted to say is please don’t go out after dark any more until you find out ’’ Mrs. Muggs—“Muggs, you are a wretch.” Mr. Muggs—“Why, why. My dear, what—” Mrs. Muggs—“Don’t “dear” me, villain. Didn’t you tell me that a typewriter was a machine.” Mr. Muggs—“And so it is.” Mrs. Muggs—“Indeed? Then why did Mrs. Wilkins say that your typewriter had beauti ful golden hair?’’ Katy-Did—Katy-Did n’t. Who was Katy, who was she, That you prate of her so long? , Was she just a little lassie Fail ot Smites ana wire*aha ffougr Did she spill the cups o’ dew Filled for helpless, tblrsiy posies? Did she tie a bntteiflv Just beyond tbe reach o’ roses ? Slandered she some sweet dumb thing? Called a tulip dull and plain. Said tbe clover had do fragrance, And tbe Illy bad a stain? Did she mock tbe pansies’ faces, Or a grandpa-longiegs flout? Did she chase the fiUhceuea fireflies Till their pretty lamps went out? Well, whatever ’twas, O Katy, We believe no harmot }on, And we’ll join yonr stanch defenders, Singing -Katv-didn’r,” too. —Mary E. Wilkins, in St. Xicholasfor July, j Wife—“There isn’t anything to eat in the house, Jake.” Husband—“Can’t help it. I ain’t got no money.” “Wasn’t you paid off this week?” “Wasn’t at work.” “Not at work! What on earth have you been doing?” “I’ve been helping to organize a branch of Henry George’s anti-poverty society.” An ex-spurt—a dilapidated fountain. Not a-miss—a pretty widow. A hard thing to sharpen—a water’s edge. What did Billet-doux? What was it Edward Ever-ett. Alexander was a great man—hut a piece of perforated tin is a grater. “Clergymen,” remarks an exchange “like railway brakemen doagreatdeal of coupling.” But the coupled ones do the switching. Misunderstood. [A. L. R. in Century ] He thf ught I said yes; but I’m sure I said no, My heart was a-beatlng, my cbeek9 were aglow; I looked oh the ground ahd I thought he would go: He thought I said yes, but I’m sure I said no. Now what could I do? Far he thought I said yes; He sat close b J 9ice me, and—you’ll never gue98; If you look at me so, I can not confess, He-l’m sure 1 said no, but he thought I said yes. “What’s this gathering of boys in the shed this afternoon, James?” inquired his mother. “Well you see, ma,” replied Jimmy Tuff boy, “we are going to form a ‘walnut trust,’ on the plan of the rubber trust, you see.” “I don’t quite see.” “Wei!, this is the way. The boys all agree to get as many walnuts as ever they can an’ pool in together. I'm interested, cause I’m going to store the pool.” Two Ancient Families. * My family is very ancient,” remarked an English tourist in Ohio. “It dates back to the Crusades.” “So does mine,” replied the Buckeye. “My mother was a Crusader herself. And what a noble stand they made against the liquor traf fic, too.” “Aw,” said the Englishman, considerably mystified. Female Suffrage agent—I called to see if I could not induce you to join our suffrage asso ciation, Mrs. Politician. Mrs. Politician—Indeed I will. I was op posed to the whoie business until I happened to a tend a mass meeting last evening, and now 1 want to vote just as quick as the law will let me. “Yes, I saw you there with your husband. He seems to be very popular. But nothing was said ai that meeting about woman’s suf frage. What changed you so suddenly?” “It just otcured to me that if I had a vote my husband would be polite to me during every campaign.” Baron Wolverum, who died Sunday, was a warm frienu of tbe Irish cause. Last year be donated a bail million dollars to tbe expet se fund ol tbe Home Rulers and intended giving a like amount this year. r QUITE AS BAD AS BULLETS.H An Old Soldier Tnlks of HI* Campaign la Virginia—The Enemy In Awinuk— Twenty Year* After. j f Selma, N. C., Feb. 11, 1887. , 1 Gentlemen:—Yours inquiring wheth er pr not I. had jpeen benefited by Kas- kine, antWHk) tfc what-lfextent, &c., to hand. In reply will say that my health has not been as good in twenty years as now. I suffered with chills from malarial poison contracted while serv ing in the Confederate army on the Peninsular Campaigns in Virginia. Did not miss having a chill at least once in twenty-one days, and more frequently once in seven days, for more than fif teen years. In this condition I visited New York in November, 1885, on business. While there I stopped with Mr. E. D. Barker, of the University Publishing Company. I told Mr. Barker of my condition. He called my attention to your Kaskine and procured for me a bottle. After my return home I took the pellets as directed and found much relief afforded thereby. Of this change I wrote Mr. Barker, who sent two or three bottles during the past year. My health greatly improved. I increased in weight from 165 pounds to 200 pounds, my present weight. I believe the Kaskine did it. Quinine had fail ed, as had other remedies usuaHy ad ministered in such cases. Now, unless in case of exposure to extra bad weather, 1 do not have chilk, and my general health is quite good. I turned over half a bottle to a young lady friend a few weeks since. I learn from her mother that she was much benefited by it while it lasted. I trust you may be able to introduce Kaskine generally in this country, in which many suffer from diseases con sequent upon malarial poison in the system. From my own experience I can emphasize its excellence for such diseases. If I can serve you call on me. I am very truly yours, John C. Scarborough. Seven years ago I had an attack of bilious remittent fever, which ran into intermittent malarial. I tried all the known remedies, such as arsenic, mer cury and quinine. The latter was ad ministered to me in heavy and contin ued doses. Malaria brought on ner vous prostration and dyspepsia, from, which I suffered everything. I.ast win ter I heard of Kaskine and began us ing it. A few bottles of the wonderful drug cured me. Malaria and dyspep sia disappeared, and as you have seen a June day brighter for the summer storm that had passed across the sky, so the cloud left my life and my health became steady and strong. Mrs. J. Lawson, 141 Bergen St., Brooklyn, N. Y. Mr. Gideon Thompson, the oldest and one of the most respected citizens of Bridgeport, Conn., says: “lam. ninety years of age, and for the last three years have suffered from malaria and the effects of quinine poisoning. I recently began with Kaskine which broke up the malaria and increased my weight 22 pounds.” Other letters of a similar character from prominent individuals, which stamp Kaskine as a remedy of undoubt ed merit, will be sent on application. Price $1.00, or six bottles, $5.00. Sold by Dniggists, or sent by mail on receipt of price. The Kaskine Company, 54 Warren St., New York, and 35 Farrnigdon Road, London. Dr. J. A. Link, Dentist, Cor. Broad and Hunter Sts., - Atlanta, Ga. G24-6m Mexican Mustang Liniment CTmBS Sciatica, Scratches, Contracted Lumbago, Sprains, Muscles, Rheumatism, Strains, Eruptions, Burns, Stitches, StifFJoints, Hoof Ail, Scalds, Stings, Screw Backache, Worms, Bites, Galls, Swinney, Bruises, Sores, Saddle Galls, Bunions; Corns, Spavin Cracks. Piles. THIS COOD OLD STAND-BY accomplishes for everybody exactly what Is claimed for It. One of the reasons for the great popularity of the Mustang Liniment Is found In Its universal applicability. Everybody needs such a medicine. The Lumberman needs it In case of accident. The Housewife needs it for generalfamlly use. The Cannier needs it for his teamiand his men. The Mechanic needs It always on Ills work bench. The Miner needs It in case of emergency. The Pioneer needs it—can't get along without It. The Farmer needs It in his house, his stable, and his stock yard. The Steamboat man or the Boa- man needs It In liberal supply afloat and ashore. The Horse-fancier needs It—It is his best friend and safest reliance. The Stock-grower needs It—It will save him thousands of dollars and a world of trouble. The Railroad man needs It and will need It SO long as his life Is a round of accidents and dangers. The Backwoodsman needs it. There is noth ing like It as an antidote for the dangers to lif^, limb and comfort which surround the pioneer. The Merchant needs It about his store *mong his employees. Accidents will happen, and when these come the Mustang Liniment Is wanted at once. Keep a Bottle iu the House. ’Tls the best of economy. Keep a Bottle in the Factory. Its Immediate use in case of accident saves pain and loss of wages. Keep a Bottle Alwaye in the Stable for “•e when wanted. 7-lyr
