Newspaper Page Text
THE PROMISE KEPT.
BY STEPHEN HUNT.
There *as a brilliant gathering at
Sir John Kenneth’s. All the aristocra
cy of Kstinoor seemed to have tamed
out. It was the last ball given in
honor of the 4th. In two more days
they farewell to English soil
and sail for India, there, possibly, to
lay down their lives and sleep the
dreamless sleep of death, in graves un
marked by stick'or stone.
Mr. Milford, the good old rector of
Kstinoor, and his friend. Colonel Che
ney, sat on the balcony talking. On a
low cushioned seat at the rector’s side,
sat his only child.
Little crippled Bethel, the old man’s
darling, placed in his arms by the gen
tle mother who gave up her life for her
child. It was an unusual thing to see
the gray-haired rector at such a scene
of gaiety, but Bethel wanted to come.
She would never walk without a crutch,
but that did not keep her from delight
ing in the free, graceful movements of
others. A tall figure passed them.
“ Did you notice that man ?” said
Colonel Cheney to the rector.
“ Yes, why ?”
“ He is a good illustration of the sub
ject we were discussing the other day
abowt boys being turned out on the
world without anybody to care for
them.”
•“ Who is he ?”
‘•Maxwell Stuart, and one of the
most reckless men I ever saw. He
came-of a good family, but had little
money, and his mother was a cold,
heartless woman, without any true
womanhood about her. Maxwell is the
last of his race, and he seems bent on
dragging down the proud old name so
honorably borne by his ancestors.”
“It is a sad thing to see a young
man going down to ruin,” said the rec
tor, gravely.
“ Yes, and I never saw one go so fast
as Stuart. Only to-day he insulted
Colonel L—, and as the Colonel is very
strict, I cannot tell where it will end.”
Till now, Bethel had been silent, but
lifting her head from her father's knee,
she said:
“ Couldn't yon save him from punish
ment, Colonel Cheney ?”
“Yes, possibly, but what is the use,
child, he will do the same thing over
again, if he gets angry enough.”
“ Perhaps not; he might do better if
he had a good true friend. I feel so
sorry for him, alone and with no body
to love or care for him. Please help
him, won’t you ?” clasping her small
hands and looking up entreatingly.
“ Well, perhaps you are right, little
woman, I will try.”
The next afternoon, Bethel took her
erutoh and went down into the garden.
She was a slight girl of fourteen, but
her thoughts and ideas were those of a
woman. The fair child-like face was
almost saint-like in its purity and
sweetness, and such a look of perfect
patience, surely few human faces ever
wear. There was a touch of sadness
in the clear gray eyes and about the
soft cut childish mouth, but sometimes
it would fade away in a look of intense
peace.
The rectory was a wilderness of
bloom and sweetness. Roses, honey
suckles and jessamines gave their fra
grance to the summer air, aud over all
shone the afternoon sun.
To Bethel, this garden looked like a
spot from liunyan's Land of Beulah, it
was so calm, so peaceful, and unworld
like in its dreamy stillness.
Bethel sat down on a low rustic seat
and fell to dreaming one of her vague
dreams of the world and the many
throbbing hearts in it, and longing, in
her tender, womanly way, to help them.
A step on the walk aroused her.
Glancing up she saw a tall soldierly
figure and dark face. She reached for
her crutch to rise, when the stranger
spoke :
“ No, don’t rise. I shall not detain
you but a few moments. I have only
come to thank you for saving me from
disgrace.”
Bethel blushed deeply. It was Max
well Stuart.
“ Indeed I would rather you would
not.”
“ Mow can I help it, when they were
the first kind words spoken of me since
I was a child. You were right in say
ing I had no one to care for me; if I
did, I would not be the God-forsaken
fellow I am to-day.”
The role of comforter came
to Bethel. There was not one of the
poor in her father's parish, that could
not testify to her powers for helping
others. The pain and despair in
Stuart’s dark, frank face made her heart
ache.
“ We are none of us God-forsaken,”
she said gently, “ and why should you
waste your life ?”
‘‘Because, if I were to die to-morrow,
there is not one to care, or mourn my
loss.”
“ God would care, he does not want
any of us lost. I had a brother once,
a strong, noble brother, but he is gone
pow. I cannot give you his place in
piy heart, but,” speaking timidly, “if
you .yvill promise not to be reckless any
more, yoy can be my second brother.'
“ Oh, child ! you do not know—yon
cannot understand how unworthy I am,
but I prQjnise never tq do a deed that
will cause j'ou shame.” He knelt down
apd took the little sbft hands iu his
strong clasp.
“ I know ypu will keep your promise,
Mr. Stuart, and when you are away in
India, remember that there is a little
cripple sister at home, who thinks of
you each day.”
VOL. Ill—NO. 5,
“ I will remember.” The fierce,
dark eyes are soft and tender.
lie kissed the child hands tenderly,
reverently, then rose to his feet and
broke off a half-open white rose, bloom
ing above Bethel’s gdlden head.
“If I die I will send it hack to you,
1 little sister. May heaven bless and
keep your pure life to its end,” and he
was gone.”
Only once did Maxwell stop and look
: back, and through all the after years
he remembered the scene. Many
times, lying watching the brilliant stars
of the eastern world, that old English
garden rose before him in its peaceful
beauty, and he could see Bethel, with
her pure, sweet face and tender e3 r es.
The strange child woman, who had
spoken the kindliest words that had
ever been uttered to him—the reckless
fellow who had never cared for God or
man.
To Estmoor the years brought no
changes. Other companies came and
went, and other balls were given in
their honor, but those men fighting on
the hot plains of India seemed to have
been forgotten ; only Colonel Cheney
wrote long letters to Mr. Milford, filled
with the praises of Maxwell Stuart.
Bethel Milford, who never thought or
hoped to live long, grew stronger, and
the pale child changed into a self-reli
ant woman.
Shut iu the valley, away from the
world she lived her beautiful, Christian
life. Some would have called it dull,
and it was. Often in Bethel’s soul
there would rise a great longing to go
out into the world, but she would look
at her crutch, then at her white haired
father* and say, “ Thy will, not mine
be done.”
No thought of marriage ever entered
her mind. She had otters, hut turned
from all, thinking to live her quiet life
alone, to its end.
Bethel gave a great many thoughts
to her brother, her soldier as she called
Stuart, and each night and morning she
would kneel by the eastern window and
pray earnestly for him.
So the years slipped quietly away
with no event to break their changeless
calm ; until one quiet summer evening
the gray twilight came down, wrapping
the earth in a misty veil, Bethel went
into her father’s study, and found him
sitting in his easy chair with folded
hands, and peace crowned brow—dead.
It was a cruel blow to the loving girl,
who had clung to her father with an in
tense passionate love. She was utterly
alone now, and for a time the thought
was almost more than she could bear.
The new rector and his wife were old
and childish, and they begged the sad
lonely girl to stay with them, and
Bethel, loving the old place better than
any other on earth, consented.
Bethel was twenty-five. It had been
four years since her father’s death, and
the first keen bitterness of her grief
had worn off. She stood by the win
dow watching the purple shadows creep
up the hillsides, while the crimson sun
set glow still lingered in the west. A
servant entered, and said there was a
gentleman in the drawing room to see
Miss Milford.
Bethel passed down the stairs, and
walked slowly across the hall, her soft
white draperies trailing over the carpet
and her soft loose hair looking like a
| nimbus of gold round the head of a
saint. She had just reached the door,
when it opened and she came face to
face with Maxwell Stuart. She did not
scream or faint, but by the sudden
stream of brightness, that seemed to
shine over all her life, she knew what
her woman’s heart had been waiting
for. Their greetings were quiet, and
I soon they were talking in a calm natu
ral manner.
I Eleven years had wrought a great
I change in Maxwell, now Colonel Stuart.
| lie was thinner and darker; the old
hard recklessness was gone, and silver
threads gleamed among the dark wav
ing hair.
That was not Colonel Stuart’s last
visit to the old rectory. He came
again, and again, and again, and one
evening down in the beautiful old gar
den he showed Bethel the rose lying
withered, and dead in a tiny sandel
wood case. In a grave, earnest voice
he said :
“ It has gone with me through all the
long years, the sweetest memory of my
life clinging around it. Bethel my
darling I have kept my promise, and
will you trust me now ? Dearest I love
you, I have loved you ever since that
evening eleven years ago, when you,
with your sweet face full of tender com
passion allowed me to call you sister.
Give me a dearer right; Bethel, be my
wife.”
And Bethel, wishing for no higher
earthly gift than the love of Maxwell
Stuart, turned and for once dropped her
crutch, and laid her hands in his.
“ I think I have always loved yoifc
Maxwell,” she said simply.
He drew her to his heart, kissing the
wide white brow and sweet quivering
lips softly and tendorly,
Through all the peaceful after years,
Bethel learned each day how truly the
promise had been kept.
HARTWELL, GA., WEDNESDAY, SEPTEMBER 25, 1878.
No Encouragement.
Detroit Free Press.
A brisk fight between two boys at the
foot of Griswold street yesterday was
interrupted by a citizen, who, after re
leasing one of them, made the other sit
down on a sail-barrel and be talked to.
“ Now, then,” he bogau, “it is a ter
rible thing for a boy like you to be con
ducting in this manner.”
“ I’d a licked him if you hadn’t come
up!” wailed the boy as he carefully
wiped his scratched nose.
“ Suppose you had. Do you want to
be a dog? Why dou't you try and be
a good boy and get aloug peacefully with
everybody? Suppose you had rolled up
the wharf and |xieii (frowned?”
“ Suppose’n.L hadn’t, too! It's the
good boys who get drowned !”
“What r
“ It's so, and I kin prove it! I'll bet
a dollar agin a cent that more Sunday
school boys have been drowned this
year than bad ’uns!”
The man reflected and did not dispute
the assertion.
“And more run over by the cars,”
continued the boy.
No answer again.
“ And more of ’em got sick and died,
and I’ll bet I’ve got more money and
have more fun and peauuts than any
good boy in Detroit!”
“ But the good arc rewarded,” quietly
observed the man.
“So are the bad,” replied the boy.
I’ll bet I make fifty cents before dark!”
“ But the good are respected.”
“Soam I. I kin go up to the post
office and borry three dollars ’thout any
security, and I’ll bet ten to five you
can’t! Come, uow—put up the lucre!”
“My boy,” sadly observed the man,
“ you must think of the future. Don’t
you want to be looked up to and respect
ed when you are a man?”
“ That’s too far ahead,” was the lone
some reply. “If anybody thinks I’m
going to be called a clothes-pin and a
wheelbarrow and a hair brush by all the
boys and not go for ’em, jist for the sake
of lookin’ like an angel when I git to
be a man, they is mistaken in the house,
and you dasn’t say they ain’t!”
And he “ dasn't.”
Legends of the Ass and Mule.
The legends respecting the Ass are
as quaint as they 1 are innumerable.
According to an old Rabbinical legend,
no being could enter the ark unless
Noah tendered a special invitation.
When the flood overwhelmed the world,
the devil, who was at the time wander
ing on the earth, saw that he was about
to be cut off from contact with man
kind, and that his dominion would be
lost forever. The ark being completed,
and the beasts called to enter it in their
proper order, the Ass’ turn came in due
course. Sadly enough for us humans,
the Ass was taken with a fit of obsti
nacy, and refused to enter the vessel
according to orders. Noah finally lost
patience, and struck the animal sharply,
crying at the same time to the head
strong beast: “ Enter, thou devil!”
Rash and fateful words ! the invitation
was of course, at once accepted, the
devil entered the ark. We may be sure
he gave the patriarch and his family
much trouble during the voyage, and he
was on hand to begin operations again
on dry land as soon as the diseinbark
ment should take place.
Concerning the Mule we find the fol
lowing legend : When the Holy Family
was about to travel into Egypt, St. Jo
seph chose a mule to carry them. He
was in the act of saddling the animal
when it kicked him, after the fashion of
Mules. Angry with it for such miscon
duct, St. Joseph substituted an ass for
a Mule, thus giving the former the honor
of conveying the family into Egypt,
and laid a curse upon it that it should
never have parents nor descendants of
its own kind, and that it should be so
disliked as never to be admitted into
its master’s house, as is the case with
the horse and other domesticated ani
mals. Although there is no mention
in the Scriptures of tha. fact that the
Holy Family rodo upon an Ass, such a
mode of travel is certainly the one they
would adopt.
Oglethorpe Echo: A few weeks since
someone picked up what he thought to
be a green rock, on the plantation of
Mrs. Arnold, in the Flat Woods. It
was turned over to Mr. W. B. Bright
well, who sent the same to an experi
enced mineralogist, who wrote him pro
nouncing it the purest and finest speci
men of copper ore he ever saw south of
Lake Superior, and says there must be a
very valuable mine near where it was
found. He intends to visit the spot and
try and discover the mine. Oglethorpe
is very rich in minerals of all kinds.
A farmer once hired a Vermonter to
assist in drawing logs. The Yankee,
when there was a log to lift generally
contrived to secure the smallest end, for
w hich the farmer rebuked him, and told
him always to take the butt end. Din
ner came and with it a sugar loaf In
dian pudding. Jonathan sliced off a
generous portion of the largest part,
and giving the farmer a wink, exclaim
ed : “ Alicoys take the bv.tt end /”
Mr. litUklns Takes a Mean Advantage.
Breakfast Table.
The other night Billkins had an in
curable attack of the popular mania,
and going into a barber shop had the
lawn mower driven over his Head ns long
as it could find anything to catch hold
of. He crawled out of the chair with
the look of an escaped convict, and felt
as ashamed of his appearencc as he sur
veyed his cropped pate in the glass that
he couldn’t muster up courage to go
home and receive the blessing beseemed
confident his wife would have ready for
him. and so he wandered around the
pool-rooms posting up in base-hall news,
and storing away lager until quite late.
He walked up the steps softly, so as not
to disturb his wife, who had been snor
ing two or three hours, he thought, and
began fumbling in his pocket for his
uight-key. He searched every pocket,
and then turned down his socks and felt
around in his shoes, but the key could
uot be found.
‘A nice go, this is,’ he muttered to
himself, as he took off his hat and felt
around on the inside of the lining.
‘Dad sink the luck, anyhow. I’ve lost
that key, sure, and Martha Ann will
have to be wakened up, and then look
I oat for music! She’s a warbler when
she's raised up out of -a sound uap, and
the way she’ll keep the melody going
I till daylight won't be slow. But there’s
no help for it—l’ve got to rouse her—
wouldn’t do to bunk out here on the
stoop, or I’d get it all with compound in
terest in the morning. No use trying
to stave off what is bound to come —so
here goes —the matinee will now com
mence.’ And he gave a timid knock
and held his breath, as he awaited de
velopments.
* Who’s there ?’ came from the inside
in a voice that made his ears tremble.
‘lt’s me, my dear. I’ve lost my key.
Open the door, please,’ said Billkins,
with a quivering voice and chattering
teeth.
‘Oh, it’s you, is it? Well, I’ll you
you ! Walk right in, and give an ac
count of yourself, and tell me what you
! mean by loafing around till this time of
night? Oh, you monster ! Wait till I
get my bauds on you !’ and the twin of
his soul threw open the door and gave
him a pull into the house. ‘Oh, you
i wretch ! Don’t stop to patch up a mess
of lies—you needn’t tell me anything
about it. You’ve becu drinking again
—I know it—you needn’t say a word —
can’t I smell it? Oh, you beast I You
smell like a grog shop. What do you
mean, Josiah? Where will this end?
I Are you bound and determined to keep
on till you fetch up in the gutter and
kill me with trouble and shame? I say
you arc a wild profligate, shameless,
horrid wretch, and for two cents I’d tear
every hair out of your head ! Oh, you
—you—.’
And the frenzied woman set her
teeth, stamped her foot and made a
spring at his hair—the flowing ringlets
that had so often given her tempest
tossed fingers a heaven of rest in
moments of storm. For the merest
fraction of a fleeting instant the snowy
fingers clawed his polished scalp, and
then came a shriek that tore the mos
quito bar—.
‘ Thieves ! Murder! Robbers ! Help !
Help! Save me!’and down she tum
bled all in a heap, in the middle of the
floor, leaving Billkins more scared than
before.
‘Trump me, if 1 don’t believe the
woman has gone dead square crazy,’
: said Billkins, as he groped about in the
dark for a match to strike a light.
1 What could a’ come over her all so sud
! den, I wonder?’
After a little difficulty and thorough
ducking, the woman was restored to
consciousness, but as she opened her
! eyes timidly and saw her husband's
barren poll glistening in the gas-light
just above her face, she shuddered with
fright, clasped her hands over her face
and moaned—
‘ Put him out, Josiah ; put him out!’
‘Who, my darling? l/xik up—your
mind wanders. Wake up and look
around—you'll be all right presently.’
‘No—no ! Drive out the horrid, ug
ly, bald-headed man. I can’t bear the
sight of him—he looks so much like an
ape. Put him out, please, Josiah, do?
He must have slipped in behind you in
the dark.’
Mr. Billkins ha-haed till lie felt sore
in the ribs, and pulled down his wife’s
hands.
‘ It’s only me, Martha Ann, lla-ha
fia! Just take a good look at me. I've
been getting my hair cut—don’t you
see? Don’t it look cool and nice?’
Mrs. Billkins jumped up and gave
him a look that would have been death
to house plants.
‘Oh, you old fool!’ she said. ‘ Well,
now, yon are a l*eauty, ain't you?—nice
and cool! Fudge ! Don’t tell me, Jo
siah Billkins ! You didn’t get it shaved
for that, at all. I know you. You
wanted to spite me—that’s just what
you did ! But I’ll get even with you
some way. Just wait till that hair gets
out again, and see if I don’t make up
for lost time! Oh, Josiah! How could
you? 800 hoo-hoo ’.’
As poor Billkins tried in vain to
WHOLE NO. 109.
soothe the sobbing woman, he actually
did feel as though he bad taken a mean
advantage.
Stubbs Seeks Revenge.
“ l’appy, old Mr. Smith's gray colt
has broken into our cabbage patch
again.”
“Helms, Ims he? Well, just load
my rifle, my son, and we will see if an
ounce of load will not lead Mr. Smith's
colt to reform his habits.”
This colloquy passed between Mr. and
Master Stubbs, just after tea. As soon
as it was dark, Mr. Stubbs takes his
rifle, marches over towards old Mr.
Smith’s farm, and when within about
thirty rods of old Mr. Smith’s barn, he
raised the deadly tube, pulled tho trig
ger. and dropped one of the very best
looking gray colts in the country.
Stubbs having fulfilled his mission, re
turned home, went to bed, and slept with
a lighter conscience tliap he had enjoyed
for the last eight months. The next
morning while seated at breakfast, who
should be seen striding towards the dom
icil of Mr. Stubbs, but old Mr. Smith.
Smith entered the house—Smith was ex
cited, and for a moment lacked words
to express himself.
“Mr. Stubbs, I’ve come over to tell
you that a horse was shot near my barn
last night.”
“ Sorry to hear it, Mr. Smith, although
not much surprised, for that gruy colt
of yours was not calculated to make
many friends.”
“ But it was not my colt that got
shot.”
“Wasn’t your gray colt? Well,
which horse was it?”
“ That gray colt you purchased last
week of Widow Dubois. He broke in
to my pnsture last evening ; I intended
to send him over, this morning, hut it's
no use now —his brains lay scattered
around the barn-yard.”
Mr. Stubbs was thunderstruck. The
idea that he killed the wrong horse
drove him to desperation, and caused
him to seek relief in a direction that
rather astonished his household. The
lust seen of Stubbs, ho was chasing his
eldest son Jim down the turnpike with
an eight foot sapling.
Wholesale Cremation at Memphis.
St. Loiiin Republican.
Notwithstanding all that has been
written and done within the last fcw
years to overcome the almost universal
repugnance to cremation as a means of
disposing of the bodies of the dead, a
thrill of horror will go through the
world at the announcement that the
people of Memphis have almost come
to regard it as the oqly means of relief
from the accumulation of corpses in
that city. Repugnant as cremation is
to most people, it is easy to see that
Memphis may be driven to it by its
necessities, for the terrors of the plague
must surely be greatly intensified if the
present condition of affairs continues.
Sixty dead bodies, of which the public
undertakers were notified, remained un
buried Wednesday night, simply be
cause of the inability to bury people as
fast as they die. Those that are bur
ied are tumbled into linstity-made
graves, witli but a few inches of earth
to cover them, so that the cemeteries
can but add to the dreadful stench that
fills the air. Better cremation than
that the city should remain a vast char
nel house, given over to death-breeding
corruption, without the terrible fever to
increase the horrors.
True (jiclitlcmcn.
“I beg your pardon,” and with a
smile and a touch of his hat Hurry Ed
mond handed to an old man, against
w hom he hud accidentally stumbled, the
cane which lie had knocked from his
hand. “ I hope I did not hurt you. Wc
were playing too roughly.”
“Not a bit! not a bit!” said the old
man, cheerfully. “ Boys w ill be boys,
and it’s best they should be. You didn’t
harm me.”
“I’m glad to hear it;” and, lifting his
hat again, Harry turned tojoin the play
mate with whom he had been frolicking
at the time of the accident.
“ What do you raise your hat to that
old fellow for?” asked his companion,
Charley Gray. “ He’s old Giles, the
huckster.”
“That makes no difference,” said
Harry. “ The question is not whether
he is a gentleman, but whether I am
one; aud no true gentleman will be less
polite to a man because he wears a
•shabby coat, or hawks vegetables through
the streets, instead of sitting in a count
ing-house.”
Which was right?
Eastman Times*; We learn from Al
len Evers that a little boy of John
Horn, of Pulaska county, had bis head
crushed aod was instantly killed on Fri
day last by the falling of a cart body
upon him. The cart body was standing
upon one end and resting slightly against
the fence, when the weight of the child,
who was about six years of age, in at
tempting to climb the body, overturned
it, and it fell striking the little one ou
the head w itb the above result.
THOSE STRIPEO STOOKINUS.
Detroit Free Press.
A youug man whose age might bavo
been 2J, and whose red. checks, saffron
colored neck-tie and innocent look
proved the innocence of his heart and
good bringing up, yesterday made three
different attemps to enter a Woodward
avenue dry goods store before he got in
to stay, although forastrnight half hour
he ball been looking longingly at the ar
ray of strijH'd and embroidered stock
' ings in the window. When asked what
lie desired to look at he blushed like a
girl and skulked toward a pile of l>ed
ticking. Tho clerk asked him what
price ho desired to pay, and was going
on to say that the Governor ol Michi
gan always bought his ticking there,
when the young man asked :
“Do women wear them ere striped
stockings in the winder?”
“ Yes, of course.’ 1
“l*ut'em on just the same as other
stockings?”
“Of course. All the ladies have
worn them for tho lust two or tlirecyears.
Would you like to look at the styles?”
Y-c-s!” whispered the stranger as
lie glanced furtively around.
A dozen pairs was thrown down, and
lie reached out carefully, lifted each oue,
and carefully laid aside a pair of hose
with red stripes chasing each other over
a brown ground work.
“Is that more’n live dollars?” ho
whispered as he looked up.
“ That pair of stockings will cost you
only eighty cents, sir. They are tho
best bargain in Detroit."
“ Eighty cents! Why, I'll take’em
in a second! I was afraid you'd say
seven dollars. How many pairs can a
feller's —feller's —mother wear out in six
months?”
“Oh, I’d take about four pairs,” re
plied the clerk. “ Here arc four differ
ent colors of the same size.”
“ I’ll lake ’em. I hnin’t seen one of
'em in our town yet, and I’ll bet they’ll
raise more excitement than a circus.”
“ Is there anything more ?” asked the
clerk as he laid the stockings aside.
The young man suddenly grew red,
then pale, and in an entreating voice he
asked :
“ Kin I trust you with a great secret ?”
“ Why, yes,” replied the wondering
clerk.
“ You won’t go back on me?”
“ No.”
“Honest Injun—hope to be struck
dead if you do?”
“ I hope.”
“ Well, them are for my
girl—out here in the country —engaged
to be married—going to Canada to bor
ry some money. I want to send ’em to
her by mail, and I want it done so she
wont know it was me. Some fellows
would get a harmonicon, or some jewel
ry, or a bunch of pink envelopes, but I
know them stockings will scoot her right
up to the head of society, and she’ll
have more bang up invitations to cull
on the high-toned than she ever drerapt
of."
“Shall I send ’em by mail?”
“ Yes, but wrap ’em up in about four
papers, so the postoffice fellers can’t spill
ink on ’em.”
“Shall I enclose any writing?”
“ Well, you see I kinder want her to
know I'm the person who sent ’em, and
I kinder don’t. I don’t want her to
think some of the other fellers iu town
is this sweet on her, and yet it won’t
hardly do to send my name.”
“ How would it do to say they were
from a friend ?”
. “That's kinder good, but it would
leave her too much in doubt.”
“You might sign your first name,
then.”
“That would be too much,” replied
the young man, ns he leaned over the
bed-ticking, to reflect.
There was an awful silence for a min
ute and a half, and then he suddenly
remarked;
“I'll sign my plump full name
hanged if 1 don’t! I’ve been thinking
it over, and 1 don't believe no sensible
girl will go buck on a feller for present
ing her with four pairs of striped stock
ings—do you ?”
“I shouldn’t think so.”
“ Then I’ll write it right out and sign
it same as iu my letters : ‘ Deth can’t
stop my luv, and 1 reached Detroit slick
as grease.’ Gimme that pencil.”
He wrote as be said, the package was
made ready for mailing, and after be
ing thrice assured that it wonld go out
by first mail he left the store, saying :
“ I’d like to see her sailing into the
meeting house Sunday morning with
them stockings on ! Whew! but wont
she promenade right up the middle aisle
to the very highest pew !”
The Want of the World.
It was not enticing words, it was not
eloquence that Paul had. Why, he
said his speech was contemptible ! He
did not profess to be an orator; but, ho
preached Christ, the power of God and
the wisdom of God, Christ and Him cru
cified. And this is what the world wants
—Christ and Him crucified. And the
world will perish for want of Christ.
Let every man and woman who loves the
Ixird Jesus begin to publish the tidings
of salvation. Talk to your neighbors
and friends. Run and speak to that
young man ! Talk to him of heaven
and the love of Christ; tell him that
you want to see him saved ; and bear in
mind this, that God is far more willing
to bless us than we are to have Him.
Let us, then, keep close to Christ.
There is no better preservation of
eggs than linseed oil smeared over thf.
shells or immersing them thoroughly ip
the oil of lime.