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HOW HE PROPOSED.
BY EBEN E. ItKXFORD.
“ Confouud it,” exclaimed Bachelor
-Craig, “ I wish I wasn't such a fool."
After whicli wise wish he elevatec
his feet on the table and thought des
perately for some time.
“ Now, I’ve seen as many as a dozen
women I Would like to marry, and who
would have l>cen willing to marry me,
Ihn safe in saying, and I never dared
ask one of them to have me. I don’t
see why I need be such a fool as to be
afraid of a woman, but lam! I need
a wife, and I know it. Everything goes
wrong, I don't live since Jane married
and went away; I just drag out an ex
istence. I wish I could muster up
enough courage to propose to this wid
ow, if I like her, and she likes me. But
then ! I know I couldn't!”
“ This widow ” was a lady who was
coming to visit his sister, who lived in
the city. They had written to him
about her, and invited him to come
down and stay a week or two.
“If I only could screw my courage
to the sticking point and propose, 1
could get along after that, I guess,” he
said, dolefully. “ But it won't stick.
Confound it! How could I manage a
proposal, I’d like to know ? I’d faint,
I know I would!”
The bare thought of asking the awful
question gave him queer sensations. If
he ever got far enough along to begin
to ask it, he felt confident that it would
stick in his throat and choke him to
death.
“ I’ll go down, anyway,” he conclud
ed. “ May be ” —but the way in which
he said the word had a very big doubt
in it —“ maybe I can muster up cour
age, if I like her. But I may not take
a fancy to her, when I come to see her,”
and the possibility of disliking her
really afforded him some relief.
Accordingly, with valise in hand,
Mr. Craig sallied forth next morning,
en route for his sister’s. When he got
on board the train, he saw with dismay
that there were no vacant seats.
lie finally found a seat which a lady
had possession of, and, as he rather
liked her looks, lie wished she would
let him sit there with her, but didn’t
dare propose any such thing. While he
was casting about in his mind for some
plan by which he could secure the place
without asking her for it in so many
words, she looked up, and, seeing the
predicament lie was in, moved along
and told him he was welcome to sit
there.
Mr. Craig sat down, looking some
what pleased and very bashful. lie
knew he ought to thank her, but the
words stuck fast before they got out,
and he grew red in the face, and said
nothing. Ilis companion, however, was
inclined to talk, and hadn't any diffi
culty in doing it, and gradually he
thawed out of his reserve, and succeed
ed in overcoming his bashfulness to
such a degree that in an hour or two he
felt quite at ease.
Suddenly there was a crash, and the
next thing Mr. Craig knew he was sit
ting serenely in the middle of a dirty
little puddle of water, and the compan
ion of his* journey was pulling weeds
and grass out of her hair, close by.
“ 1 declare,” ejaculated Mr. Craig,
“ It’s a mere}’ we ain’t dead ! Alvira
would be half scared to death if she
knew what had happened !”
“ Are you Alvira Bowen's brother ?”
asked the lady, fishing up a false curl
from some mysterious recess in the
depths of tiie pond with one hand, and
pulling a long piece of weed from her
mouth with the other, after the fashion
of a conjurer drawing ribbons from his
mouth. “ I thought there was some
thing familiar in your looks.”
“ Yes, I’m her brother,” answered
Mr. Craig. “I wonder if you’re the
w—woman she wrote about ?”
“ Quite likely,” answered she. “My
name’s Stafford, Mr. Craig. It s a
queer kind of a place for an introduc
tion, isn’t it ?” and then she laughed in
a way that completely won Mr. Craig’s
heart. “ Now, if you’ll be so kind as
to help me out of this puddle, and fish'
out that traveling-bag you see floating
about over there, I’ll be ever so much
obliged to you.”
All of which Mr. Craig did.
It was late at night before they
reached Alvira’s. Of course she was
delighted to see them, end frightened
almost out of her senses to think how
near they had come to being killed, and
cried over her brother, who’d come
within one of being an angel at that
identical moment.
“ A miss is as good as a mile, Al
vira,” said Mr, Craig, tersely.
“ I don’t know what I should have
done if it hadn’t been for your brother,”
VOL. II—NO. 40.
said Mrs. Stafford, bestowing such a
bewitching smile on Mr. Craig that he
felt warm all over instantly. “ lie was
so kind and thoughtful."
“ I’m satisfied If you are,” said Mr.
Craig. “ I'm sure I didn't mind the
bother any.” After which clumsy at
tempt to be complimentary he blushed
up to the roots of his hair, but wisely
refrained from attempting to explain,
as in such a case he always made bad
matters worse.
A week went by, and Mr. Craig ac
knowledged to himself that he had
never began to be so deeply in love be
fore. He begun to cast about in his
own mind for some new method of pro
posing which wouldn’t require such an
awful amount of courage as the old way
demanded. He knew that courage was
the very thing he lacked. It wasn't in
clination by any means. But he felt
that he couldn't ask her, in so many
words, to marry him. It made him
turn pale to think of it.
At the end of a week she got a dis
patch from her sister asking her to
come home at once, to attend to a mat
ter of business.
“ You’ll surely come back and finish
your visit, won’t you, now ?” said Mrs.
Bowen. And Mrs. Stafford promised
to come back in a few da} T s and stay a
week longer.
Mr. Craig wanted to find out how he
stood in her estimation before she went
away. He might not be there when
she came back. It was with a vague
idea of proposing to her that he volun
teered to take her down to the depot,
on the morning of her departure. Two
or three times, before they reached the
station, he tried to say what he wanted
to, but the words stuck in his throat , as
he had known they would, and choked
him till he was purple in the face, and
made him feel sure that he resembled
nothing else in the world quite as much
as he did one of Alvira’s purple cab
bages.
Three times, while they stood on the
platform waiting for the train, he made
desperate efforts to say what he want
ed to, but he couldn't.
At last the train came in sight.
“ Mrs. Stafford, I wish you'd tell me
something before you go,” he began,
pale as a ghost, and then stopped, with
his tongue cleaving to the roof of his
mouth.
“ Well, what is it ?” she asked.
“ I—l’ve been waiting to tell you for
some time,” he stammered, blowing his
nose and coughing terribly in a vain
effort to hide his embarrassment.
“ Well, hurry, then,” said ihe widow.
“ I’ll be left if you don’t.”
Poor Craig opened his mouth to
speak the terrible words. The bell
rang, as he stood there with glaring
eyes and finally burst out:
“ You'll be left if you don’t hurry !”
With a look of disgust, the widow
gathered her skirts about her and left
him without deigning to say good-by.
“ I declare, if you ain’t a little of the
biggest fool, Joshua Craig, of any I
ever heard of!” he told himself as he
drove back. “ You've put your foot in
it this time!”
He couldn’t go home, for all he was
ashamed to face the widow. So he
stayed, and she came back, and be
witched him more than ever, and he
vowed he would propose, or die in the
attempt. He felt quite sure it would
be die.
One night he was out pretty late.
When he came home he didn’t stop to
get a light, but felt his way to what he
supposed was his bedroom.
He sat down to pull off his boots.
Suddenly his hand came in contact with
a pair of ladies’ gaiters on the floor.
“Goodness!” cried Craig; “who’s
put these here ?”
A sound of life from the direction of
the bed. Something white rose up and
confronted him.
“ Who’s there ?” demanded he, half
frightened to death.
“ Why, Mr. Craig!” cried the voice
of the widow. “ How dare you come
into my room at this time of night ? I
thought you were a gentleman. Dear!
dear!” and then the widow began to
cry.
Mr. Craig’s hair rose up like “ quills
upon the fretful porcupine.” lie could
actually feel how pale he was.
“ Mercy on me!” he managed to
ejaculate. “ I—didn’t know that I was
in anybody’s room but my own. 1
didn’t!—l declare, by all that’s gooff
and great, that 1 didn’t!’’
“ I don’t know whether to l*elteve
that or not,” answered the widow-, with
smothered sobs. “ Men don’t often
make such mistakes unintentionally- I
thought I could trust you, and that you
were too honorable to take advantage
of my unprotected situation. Dear
me! what would people say if they
knew of this ? I’m going to call your
sister! I'm going to let the world
know what a wretch you are !”
“Oh don't!” cried Mr. Craig. With
world of entreaty in his tones. A des
perate thought flashed across his brain.
Before he stopped to consider what the
consequences might be, he had given it
utterance. It was his last resort—his
forlorn hope.
“ I—l came to —propose to you !” he
declared explosively. “ I didn't dare
to ask you by d—daylight, and I took
this way J”
•“ I don't know whether to put any
dependence in what you say or not,”
said the widow, pausing in her sobs.
“You men deceive us so! I’m afraid
you’re taking this way of getting rid
of being exposed. If 1 thought you
were— ’’
“ I ain’t!” stoutly asserted Craig,
beginning to feel a slight iperease of
courage. I—l've wanted to—to ask
you to h—have me for some time, but
I d—dassen’t. I —l'll marry you any
time you say, if you won't mention
this. I will, really, if you w-—want me
to.”
“If I could be sure you were in
earnest,” said the widow waveringly.
“ I am! I hope to die this blessed
minute if I ain't!’’ declared the poor
man. “ Say y*, <yuiok, if you’re going
to. I—l want to go and see a man.”
“ Well, then—yes 1” said the widow,
and Mr. Craig bolted for the door, an
engaged man!
“ There, you old fool,” he apostro
phized himself, as he reached his own
room at last, “ You’ve done it, haven’t
you ? You’ve put your foot in it this
time, and I hope you're satisfied !”
He didn't sleep any that night. He
wondered if all men felt as he did when
they were first engaged ? lie was
dreading the morning, and the widow.
He went down to breakfast with a
quaking heart. He saw the widow
come into the room, all smiles and j
blushes, and looked about in vain long
ing to hide. He felt an awful sinking
at his heart when she came and sat
down beside him, and his sister rose tip
and came toward them. He felt what
was coming.
“ I’m so glad,” said Alvira, kissing
the widow. “ When is it to be, bro
ther ?”
“ W-what ?” asked the poor man, be
ginning to realize how helpless lie was
to avert impending doom.
“ Why, the wedding, of course,” said
Alvira. “Of course you won't put it
off longer than two weeks. We can
have everything ready by that time.”
“ ’ T-’taint for me to say,” he said,
meekly. “If it’s got to be done, the !
sooner the better,” and then he wiped
his face and wondered if he would be
living two weeks from that day.
Two years have gone, and he still
lives. He is just forming the acquaint
ance of little Craig, and he congratu
lates himself daily on the mistake which
made him a married man.
Johnny on the Sheriff.
A man which was the Sheriff of a
jail his prisoners kept gettin’ out nites
and steelin’ hens, cos the jail wasent
strong enuf for to hold’em inside. So
the man he sed, the man did, “He put
a stop to that little game, my harteys !”
and he had a other cote of paint put on
the jail. But the artist he had put some
salt into the paint, and some cow' came
I along and licked the paint ol off - , and
then the prisoners got out a other time
and steeled more hens. When the
, Sheriff he seen wot they had done, he
was so angry he sed, “ This ain’t no
place for theefs, you bet; so you fellers
hasgot to eether behave yourself or iite
out, and rassele round for your own
beet way you can.”
HARTWELL, GA., WEDNESDAY. MAY 29, 1878.
■AM'S LITTLE UJM Mill.
The following is the Chinese version
of Mary and her lamb:
Was gal name Moll had lamb,
Elea all same# white snow,
Kvly rdacc Mol! gnl walker,
Ba oa hoppec long too.
We heard a son of Erin trying to
surround Mary and her little lamb the
other day, and this is the way he un
derstood it:
Bcgorrv, Mary had a little shape,
And his wool wai white intoirly;
An’ whenever Mary would stir herstunips,
The young shape wud follow her coin
plately.
Council Bluff (ilobe.
So celpbjated a poem should have a
French wdbkm:
Marie had lc junc inuttong
wool was blanchee as ze snow,
And everywhere la belle Marie went,
le juiie muttong wos sure to go.
lHtportcd Post of Stamford Advocate.
%
Oni, monsieur; vous avez un very
largp imagination; mais comment cst
this poor Deutsche:
Dot Mary liaf got ein leedle schaf;
Mit hair yust like some vool;
l ml all der blace dot gal did vent,
Dat schaf go like ein fool.
—Hackensack Republican.
“Old Africa" should have a showing
at this matter, although it is generally
conceded that “ Sheep meat is intircly
too good for colored individuals ” :
Mary's lamb was white for sho’,
I)e nigger’s wool am black ;
An’ everywhar dat lamb would go,
De nigger stole’um back.
* —Augusta News.
The Cure for (Jossip.
Scribner's Mai/azine.
Wpat is the cure for gossip ? Sim
ply, pilture. There is a great deal of
gossip that has no malignity in it.
Good-natured people talk about their
neighbors because, and only because
they have nothing else to talk about.
vuw, buete cornea t<o • pic
ture of a family of young ladies. We
have seen them at home, we have met
them in galleries of art, we have caught
glimpses of them going from a book
store or library', with a fresh volume in
their hands. When we meet them they
are full of what they havo seen and
read. They are brimming with ques
tions. One topic of conversation is
dropped only to give place to another,
in which they are interested. We have
left them, after a delightful hour, stim
ulated and refreshed; and during the
whole hour not a neighbor’s garden was
soiled by so much as a touch. They
knew something and wanted to know
more. They could listen as well as
they could talk. To speak freely of a
neighbor’s doings and belongings would
have seemed an impertinence to them,
and, of course, and impropriety. They
had no temptation to gossip, because
the doings of their neighbors formed a
subject very much less interesting than
those which grew ont of their knowl
edge and culture.
And this tells the whole story. The
confirmed gossip is alway'S either ma
licious or ignorant. The one variety
needs a change of heart and the other
a change of pasture. Gossip is always
a personal confession either of malice
or imbecility, and the young should not
only shun it, but by the most thorough
culture relieve themselves from all temp
tation to indulge in it. It is a low,
frivolous and too often a dirty business.
There are country neighborhoods in
which it rages likeapest. Churches are
split in pieces by it. Neighbors are
made enemies by it for life. In many
persons it degenerates into a chronic
disease, which is practically incurable.
Let the young cure it while they may.
A greater curiosity than the Siam
ese twins is on exhibition at Troy. The
Siamese twins were merely two perfect
ed men united by a band of flesh, but
this visitor, the Canadian double-head
ed baby, has two beautiful heads, fat,
blue-eyed faces, one resembling the fa
ther and the other the mother, necks,
shoulders, chests and arms as usual,
; but just at the lowest ribs the bodies
are united, and from that point down
ward are the limbs and members of one
child only, one navel and one pair of
legs. Each controls the leg nearest to
' it. One may be asleep, the other awake
and crying. The child is of the female
sex. The faces are exceedingly pretty ;
the mother is an interesting French
* woman.
A STORY ABOUT AH ELEPHANT.
Old MouprnmKny'n ill* Fl*ht Aa Kl
phnnt Ihhlni with Children.
The followiug curious anecdote is from
a book about elephants, written by a
French gentleman, named Jacolliot, and
we will let the author tell his own story :
In the autumn of 1876 I was living
in the interior of Bengal, and I went to
spend Christmas with my friend, Major
Daly. The Major’s bungalow was on the
banks (f the Ganges near C'awnpore.
Ho had lived there a good many years,
being Chief of the Quartermaster’s De
partment at that station, ami had a
great many natives, elephants, bullock
carts, and soldiers under his command.
On the morning after my arrival, af
ter a cup of early tea (often taken be
fore daylight in India.) I sat smoking
with my friend in the verandu of his
bungalow, looking out upon the wind
ings of the sacred river. And, directly,
I asked the Major about his children (a
boy and girl,) whom 1 had not yet seen,
and begged to know when I should see
them.
“Soupramany has taken them out
fishing,” said their father.
“Why, isn’t Soupramany your great
war-eleplmnt?” I cried.
“Exactly so. You cannot have for
gotten Soupramany?”
“ Of course not. I was here, you know,
when he had that fight with the ele
phant who went mad while louding a
transport with bags of rice down yon
der. I saw the mad elephant when he
suddenly began to throw the rice into
the river. His ‘ mahout’ tried to stop
him, and he killed the mahout. The
native sailors ran awuy to hide them
selves, and the mad elephent, trumpeting
charged into this inclosure. Old Sou
pramany was here, and so were Jim and
11ooair W La* L -•< •aL •—*— A * *
he threw himself between him nnd the
children. The little ones and their
nurses had just time to get in the house
when the fight commenced.”
“ Yes,” said the Major, “Old Soup
was a hundred years old. lie had been
trained to war, and to fight with the
rhinoceros, but he was too old to hunt
them.”
“And yet,” said I, becoming animated
by the recollections of that day, “ what
a gallant fight it was ! Do you remem
ber how we all stood on this porch and
watched it, not daring to fire a shot lest
we should hit Old Soupramany? Do
you remember, too, his look when he
drew off after fighting an hour and a
half, leaving his adversary dying in the
dust, and walked straight to the ‘ cor
ral,’ shaking his great ears which had
been badly torn, with his head bruised,
and a great piece broken from one of his
tusks?”
“ Yes, indeed,” said the Major. “ Well
since then, he is more devoted to my
dear little ones than ever. lie takes
them out whole days, and I am perfectly
content to have them under his charge.
1 don’t like to trust Christian children
to the care of natives; but with Old
Soup I know they can come to no harm.”
Beside the children, on the banks of
the Ganges, stood Old Soup with a bam
boo rod in his trunk, with line, hpok,
bait and cord, like the children’s. I
had not watched him long before he had
a bite; for as the religion of the Hin
doos forbids them to take life, the river
swarms with fishes.
The old fellow did not stir; his'little
eyes watched his line eagerly ; he was
no novice in the “gentle craft.” He
was waiting till it was time to draw in
his prize.
At the end of his line, as he drew it
up, was dangling one of those golden
tench so abundant in the Ganges.
When Soupramany perceived what a
fine fish he had caught, he uttered one
of those long, low gurgling notes of sat
isfaction by which an elephant expresses
joy : and he waited patiently, expecting
Jim to take his prize off the hook and
put on some more bait for him. But
Jim, the little rascal, sometimes liked
to plague Old Soup. He nodded at
us, as much as to say, “ Look out, and
you’ll see fun, now !” Then he took off
the fish, which he threw into a water-jar
placed there for the purpose, and went
back to his place without putting any
bait on Old Soup’s hook. The intelli
gent animal did not attempt to throw
! his line into the water. He tried to
WHOLE NO. fci.
move'Jim by low pleading criea. It
was curious to note wliat tender tone* be
seemed to try to give his voice.
Seeing that Jim paid no attention to
his calls, hut sat and laughed aa ha
handled his own line, Old Soup went
up toliim and with his trunk tried to
turn his head in the direction of tht
bait-box. At last, when be found that
all he could (to would not induce Mi
willful friend to help him, he turned
round as if struck by a sudden thought,
aud, snatching up in his trunk the box
which held the bait, came and laid it
down at the Major’s fret; then picking
up bis rod, he hold it out to his master.
“What do you want me to do with
this, Old Soup?” said the Major.
The creature lifted one great foot af
ter the other, and again began to utter
bis plaintive cry. Out of mischief, I
took Jimmy’s part, and, picking up the
bait-box, pretended to run with it. The
elephant was not going to be teased by
me. He dipped his trunk into the
Ganges, and iu an instant squirted a
stream of water over me with all the
force and precision of a fire-engine, to
the immense amusement of the children.
The Major at once mode Soup a sign
to stop, and, to make my peace with the
fine old fellow-, I baited his hook my
self. Quivering with joy, as a baby
does when it gets hold at last of a play
thing someone has taken from it. Old
Soupramany hardly paused to thank me
by a soft note of joy for baiting his line
for him, l>eforo ho went back to his
place, and was again watching his cork
as it trembled in the ripples of the river.
Oleomargarine.
We have frequently been asked what
is Oleomargarine? We have hereto
fore had our doubts about its success
ful manufacture, and had concluded
that much that was published about it
was mere sham. But when the legis
lature of the great State of New York
considered it of sufficient importance
to legislate upon its manufacture, and
direct the manner in which it shonld be
placed upon the market, we concluded
it was a genuine article of commerce,
and from several of our exchanges we
gather the fact that it is rapidly becora-
IS 11 •fl.’iM’V'BlJ rnoro
costly article of diet—butter—but is
actually exj>orted by the thousands of
IKiunds to Europe and South America,
Latterly, in this City of Washington,
we ate a very hearty breakfast, and
fmm the unpleasant “ farewell ” left
upon our palate and stomach by the
material spread upon our hattercakes,
we arc convinced it was Oleomargarine,
and not butter.
It will be remembered tlipl the ex
portation of fresh beef from America
to Europe has grown into an immense
trade. Millions of pounds are now
shipped annually throughout the four
seasons of the year, from New York
and other Northern cities, to Europe.
This necessitates the butchering of
thousands of our largest and fattest
beeves. The result of this is tallow
has become so low-priced that it is not
a remunerative manufacture ; hence the
ingenuity of the Yankee shippers and
butchers was taxed to discover some
more profitable utilization of the sur
plus fat or raw tallow. Experiment
after experiment was tried, until finally
success was attained in extracting from
the fat around the heart those atomic
parts which arc extracted by churning
from the cream, and these parts (sim
ply beef oil) were mixed with sour milk,
and butter was produced. This butter,
however, proved to be of easy putre
faction, and would not keep. Experi
ment proved this was because of the
mixture with milk; so now, this oil,
which is extracted not only from the
fat about the heart, but from the fat of
the caul of the larger intestines, is sim
ply churned with pure water at the tem
perature of fresh milk, and a butter is
produced which, after being colored and
carefully packed, will keep longer than
butter made from cream, and it is daily
shipped by the ton to all parts of the
world. What is it the ingenuity of
man cannot accomplish ?
William Ilollen, of Crawford county,
lowa, disappeared with a lot of cattle
belonging to his neighbor, and yet his
neighbor does not feel the least resent
ment towards him. It may be stated
that William and the cattle left on a
tornado, and when he was last seen it
was evident that he was going very
much against his will.
A news item says that an English
traveler in the Holy Land has discov
ered Jacob’s well. The Oil City Der
rick says: “We are glad to hear it. A
! rumor has been afloat for some time
that Jacob was dead.”