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STORM AND SUNSHINE
Low hang the heavy clouds; the wind
Grows cold and makes the flowers shiver;
Driv’n by the storm, the frightened brook
Hastes madly onward to the river,
The birds, in terror, seek their nests,
Each to his loved ones loudly calling;
The grass bends, trembling, to the earth,
And fast the dreary rain is falling.
This is a weary life at best;
What is the use, my heart, of living?
’Tis vain to seek for peace and rest—
The world is cold and unforgiving!
The sun is shining once again,
With it a glorious rainbow bringing;
Sweet buds are op’ning into flowers,
From ev'ry tree the birds are singing.
The brook is dancing in the light,
The bees from rose to rose are straying;
The grass uplifts its many blades,
With merry leaves the breeze is playing.
This world is cheery, after all;
There is some use, my heart, in living;
Though friends forsake, and shadows fall,
The sun still shines, and God’s forgiving!
— Margaret Eytinge.
BILL HEDDEN’S GAL.
BY WILLIAM A. HAMMOND, M. D.
“Thar aint no U3e talkin’, fur it’s jist
as plain a3 the nose on your face that
Nance Joyce is the best-lookin’ gal in
Riley county. 1 aint much of a fightin'
man, and I don’t want to make no on
pleasantness now, but I’m willin’ to back
Nance fur all she’s worth agin the whole
female popylation.” tall, rawboned and
The speaker, a
rather handsome young man dressed in
a blue flannel shirt, and in trousers that
looked as though they might at one time
have been of any color of the rainbow,
but that now were of whatever neutral
tint the observer against might the choose to of call the
them, leaned counter whisky
“saloon,” and with a glass of in
his hand glanced defiantly around the
room. Finally, as he was finishing his
speech, his eyes rested on a man, ap¬
parently a teamster, for he had a whip
in his hand such as was used at the
time—twenty-five years ago—by the
drivers of the government wagons. Evi¬
dently he was in no cheerful mood, for
while all the others in the room were
laughing and talking over their liqupr,
he sat, not drinking as they were, but
looking down at the floor as though in¬
tently engaged in studying the cracks
and stains and knot-holes with which it
abounded, while his fingers were nerv¬
ously twisting and untwisting the lash of
his whip. Seemingly he paid no atten¬
tion to the challenge in behalf of the
claims of Nance Joyce to be the hand¬
somest girl in Riley county, noticed though a
close observer might have that
as the last words were spoken he put
additional energy into his twisting and
untwisting processes, as though to get
rid in that way of a superabundance of
nervous energy. mind how
“Youd’d better you talk,
Dave Milligan,” said a man a good deal
older, to judge than by his gray beard and
stooping figure, any one else pres
ent; “thar's them present, or leastwise
one,” glancing toward the quiet teamster
as he spoke, who ain’t goin’ to allow as
Nance Joyce is purtier nor Bill Hedden’s
gal. Not as it’s any o’ my business, but
they do say, leastwise the women do
down on the ‘Blue, 5 that Bill's gal’s be¬
spoke, and the man as is got her ain’t
fur from this saloon neither. ’
But even this rather pointed alleged reference
failed to arouse the lover of
“Bill Hedden’s gal,” though, as before,
he played more energetically—almost
spasmodically—with his w hip lash. He
aid not. however, raise his eye3 from the
floor, though he must certainly have
heard the remarks of the two speakers.
With a wink that was intended to be
significant to all present oi a determina¬
tion to push matters still further, the
first speaker—Dave Milligan, as the old
man had called him—made another at¬
tempt to arouse the silent teamster.
“It’s ail well enough,” he said, “fur
old man Stryker to talk jist for the sake
o’talkin’: fur that’s about what he’s do
in’when he kinder allows as Bill Hed
den’s gal has notions this higher nor any Didn’t kite
*s ever sailed above airth.
Bill tend her to the States for her school
in , nd didn't she come back speakin’
Dali a dozen furrin lingoes and playin’
the pianny like that Taliani as was up at
Leavenworth last Christmas? Didn't she
skip ever the perairy as if she war an an
telope, flirting the real silk dress as Bill
five her, jist as if it war the star-spang
led banner, fluttering goin’ in a in hurricane?
Sich likes as her aint fur mule
irivers if they knows theirselves, and
they ginerray does. Bill’s gal’s lavin’
her lines for an officer up at the Fort and
Bill hisself is a-backin’ her, tooth and
nail. That’s the sort of a game as is np,
and mule drivers is goin’ to be nowhar.*’
A loud laugh greeted this speech, and
Dave Milligan evidently thinking that he
had said enough to provoke a fight, and
that he had a right to look for the result
straightened himself up, and, giving his
trousers a hitch, awaited any assault that
might be made. made
But still the teamster no re
sponse. either by word or deed, Dave
walked up and down the floor, winking
and chuckling over his easy victory till,
‘finSnjb^jcouraged by the jeers that his
remark&^called forth from his com
panionsTne strutted across with his to -whip,and, where the
teamster sat fumbling with his hands
standing in front of him,
rammed far down into his trousers'
pockets and his legs wide apart, looked
at the object of his attack with a half
pitying, half contemptuous look on his
face.
“Let him alone, Dave,” cried a man
from the far end of the room, “Thar
ain’t no spunk in him. The idee o’ Bill
Hedden’s gal takin’ on with a milksop
like him is enough to make a coyote
laugh. She’s as spirited as a buffalo
calf when it had its *first meal o’ grass
and she don’t want any flabbergaft,
about her,”
These -words had more effect in rous¬
ing the teamster than any that either
of the other speakers had spoken, for be
raised bis head and looked around the
room till his eyes rested on the man who
had uttered them. He looked at him
steadily for a moment, and then slowly,
almost sluggishly, got up from the bar¬
rel on which he was sitting, and without
noticing Dave Milligan took a step to¬
ward the door.
Then the jeers and hoots were re¬
doubled as the crowd saw its victim
making an attempt to escape, and
two or three of the noisiest of the men
supplemented their taunts with such
missiles of a material character—onions,
ears of corn, etc.,—as happened to be
near at hand. One of them struck the
retreating teamster in the middle of the
back and another knocked his hat off.
He stooped to pick it up, and as he rose
faced his persecutors.
There was nothing particularly strik¬
ing in,his appearance. For all the world
he looked like any other teamster save
for the expression of utter despair that
was on his face. As he stood up and
looked around the room as though in
search of a friendly countenance tears his
started to his eyes and ran down
cheeks. He brushed them away with
his hand, and then something seemed to
prompt him to speak, for he raised his
arms as if to implore silence, and when,
in compliance with this gesture and re¬
peated requests to a like effect from
several of the leaders of the crowd the
jeers and laughter ceased he spoke as
follows:
“I didn’t think as Jack Davis would
be agin me, the man asj i pi ut of
was
on us last April and cornin’ near on to
losin’hisown life a-doin’ it. I don’t
mind Dave Milligan. Every man here
knows as I ain’t afraid o’ him, and I
gness he aint forgot the lickin’ I give
him a couple of months ago. And as to
the rest o’ you, I guess if I war myself
thar aint any two of all you howlin’
cusses as I couldn’t handle.
“But you see, gentlemen,” looking
down at the floor as he spoke and shift
ing his feet uneasily, < i The spirit’s clean
out o’ me. When I’m mvseif I aint no
coward, and fur half the words as has
been spoke this day to me in this room
I’d a’ knocked blue blazes out o’ the
men as spoke ’em, no later ago nor yes¬
terday. My name’s William T. Bush.
My family is all for fightin’, from old
Sandy Bush, who died more’n a hundred
years ago, down to my youngest brother,
Timothy, who war a eatin’ spoon vittles
when I left Pike. Yesterday I’d a
fought the whole crowd o’ you, let alone
Dave Milligan and Jack Davis, as I could
sling into kingdom come with one hand
tied behind my back, but to-day, knocked gentle
; men, as I said afore,the gentlemen,afore spirit’s God,
clean out me. and,
Bill Hedden’s gal’s done the work.”
While he was speaking the utmost at
tention was given to him, and even now
a3 he stopped the rough men appeared the
to be spellbound in expectation about of be
revelation that was evidently to
made in regard to the surprising change ebar
J that had ensued in the personal
! acteristics of one of their companions,
As for the teamster, he appeared the for
a few moments to be overcome by
force of the announcement he had just
made, but he soon recovered enough
composure to go on with his explanation, lit¬
though his voice had lo3t most of the
tle strength that it had had in the be¬
ginning.
“Yes, gentlemen,” he resumed, “Bill
Hedden’s gal’s done fur me. You see,
I never knowed what war in me or I
guess I’d a kept clar o’ her and all the
rest o’ the gals. I jist thought as how
I’d have a good time courtin' her nights
when I’d put up my team an’ she war a
roamin’ over the perarie, lookin’ like
some pink rose-bush as had got loose
from its roots and war lookin' fur a new
place to plant itself. Maybe I did think
now au’ then that I’d ask her to be my
wife, but, Lord love you, gentlemen,! no
more knowed what a racket she’d kick
up in my heart than I knowed who stole
my off leader last winter. Well, I up
and spoke civil to her one evenin' jist
as the sun war a-goin’ down behind the
limestone bluffs*and she answered kind¬
ly—oh, gentlemen, so kindly—that I
felt my heart jump up in my throat like
as if thar war a bullfrog walked a climbin’ the road out
o’ my chist. We along
down to the Fork, and I went home with
her, and I didn’t need no persuasion to
go in and stay till Biil Iledden come
home, and then I thought it war time to
go. Gentlemen, I loved that gal from
that night in a way as was strange to
me. It kinder seemed as ef the whole
world war full o’ me and Bill’s gal—not
another livin’ creature but jist ns two. I
aint no scholar,. as you all knows, 1
aint had but six months’ schoolin’ in all
my life, but I kuowed enough to write
her a letter when I couldn’t git away to
see her oust a week or oftener, and I
didn't have no more trouble a-writin’
them letters than if I war the editor o’
the Kansas Register. The words jist
seemed to come out o’ the end o’ my pen
lik6 the water out o’ Sand Hill Gulch
after a week’s rain. And she liked ’em,
gentlemen! She told me so with her
own lips and 1 knowed from the look in
her eyes that she war a-speakin’ the
truth.
“It aint fur me to tell how I made love
to her and how she made back. Them's
things, gentlemen, that I don’t care to
talk about. Not as I’m ashamed, but
you see thar’s a sort o’ feelin' in me as
tells me it wouldn’t be a white man’s
work to tell what war said and done be¬
tween us. But, gentlemen, I will say
than no man over loved a gal as I loved
her. She jist walked into my heart and
sot liersels down thar, and .then she
crawled down into its deep places—
lower down than any one had ever bin
afore, and thar I held her so tight that I
thought the world would have come to
an end afore she could git out.
“She war very good full to me, gentlemen. the
Her eyes war always o’ looks
that I knowed were looks o’ joy when¬
ever I come to Bill's house to see her,
and she always had lots of the sweetest
kind oi words fur me. Further than
this, gentlemen, as I said afore, it don’t
seem right for me to go, but I will say
that I knowed she loved me, jist about
as strong as I loved her, and that war so
all-fired much that the world aint seen
the like of it in our time, gentlemen, noi
is it likely to, I guess.
“Well, you see knowed as I loved bet
and I knowed as she loved me, but 1
hadn’t yit in so many words asked hex
to marry me. Thar warnt no doubt on
that pint, for I’m a straight man gentle¬
men, aud I’d no more a-thought o’ doin’
harm to Bill Hedden’s gal than I’d
thought o’ harmin’ my own mother. So
one evenin’ as we war sittin’ together in
Bill’s front room and he war walkin’ out
on the porch I up and asked her to be
my wife. She didn’t give me no answer, she
leastwise not in words, but I knowed
war willin’, for I aint no fool, and I kin
read signs as well as any other man,
’specially when they’re as plain as them
she give me. But I wanted her to say
yes right out. and when I pushed her on
tint pint she laughed and she’d and speak told me plain to
come to-morrow
enough. I didn’t have no fear as to
what she'd say when she did speak, for
you see all the signs war one way—
every one of them pintin’ one way—and
that war the way I liked. So when to
morrow come, as it did last evenin’, gen¬
tlemen, I put up my team after a heavy
day’s work at the sawmill, and freshened
myself up a bit afore I started for Bill
Hedden’s house. All the way as I went
along I war thinkin’ of his gal more’n
ever afore. I made up my mind to tell
Bill that very night, but I war sure that
he knowed what war goin’ on jist as
well as ef I told him. I ha 1 a sort of a
notion that maybe Bill would be glad earned to
take the five hundred dollars I’ve
and put in in his tanch and take me as a
pardner, seein’ as I’d be his son-in-law,
and knowin’ all about the business, too.
1 was jist chuck full o’ happiness, and
when 1 went into the room whar Bill's
gal war sittin’ readin’ I went up to her,
expectin’ to see her git up and meet me
imIf-way, jist as she’d always done, aud
— however, I mustn’t speak of them
things. But thar she sot. Bee jist
looked up onst from her book and then
she went on rcadin’ agin as ef I war a
thousand miles away.
4 i I war took all aback, gentlemen.
My head all at once got as big as a
bushel and I couldn't see straight,
for everything seemed to 1 e goin’ ’round
topsv-turvv. I tried to say some¬
thing, but not a word would come
out of my mouth. Then I heard
tier speak, aud what do you think
she said, gentlemen? These is tho
very words: ‘Mr. Bush,' says she, ‘1 can
never marry you, and I think we d bet¬
ter not meet ngin.’ Them's the very
words; spoke too without a break in her
voice, or a tear in her eye, or a sigh ftom
her heart; she spoke jist as ef she war
speakin’ to a man as she had never §een
afore, much less laid on his heart and
kissed, but, as 1 war a-sayia’, gentlemen, of. I
these things is not to be spoke I just
asked her war slio in earnest.
managed somehow or other to git them
words out of my dried up mouth, and
then 1 knowed no more till I war out on
the road aHd heard her a-laughin’ and
talkin’ inside with Lieutenant Soring,
from the Fort, who went in jist as I come
out.
“My head war still goin’ round like a
top, but I knowed enough to lay in the
ravine, this side o’ Bill’s house and wait
for the man as had took my place. In
about an hour, I guess, he came along
on his horse. He didn't see mens I cov¬
ered him with my six-shooter. I war jist
goin’ to pull the triggor when somethin’
come up in my mind and and stopped tried me. to
I went to my bunk
git to sleep, but you see, gentlemen, daylight
it warn’t no use. I got up at
and wandered all over the plains, lettin’
my team go, and then I come in here,
thinkin’ as how I’d kill myself with
whisky or somethin’ else. For thar ain’t
nothin’ to keep me in this world now,
as Bill Hedden’s gal has gone back on
me. But I’ll swear on a stack o’ Bibles
she loved me onst. No,” putting his
hand to his heart as he spoke, and stag¬
gering till ho caught hold of a chair,
while «*overal of those present rushed to
his assistance; “there ain’t nothin’ else
to live for since Bill’s gal give me up. It
ain’t no use, gentlemen,” as Dave Milli¬
gan and Jack Davis took him to a chair
and supported his head. “She gave me
my ticket for the next world when she
went back on me, for you see I ioved her
more’n I loved God, and perhaps that
wern’t the right thing for me to do.
And I will swear with my dyin’ breath
that she loved me onst. I saw it a thou¬
sand times in her eyes and I’ll swear it
with—my dyin’ breath.”
“Boys,” said Jack Davis, “take off
your hats, every mother’s son o’ you.
Bill Bush wat a white-souled man ef
ever there war one. If he ain’t gone to
heaven I don’t see no use in sich a place,
and he war a sight too good for Bill
Hedden’s gal .”—ISew York Journal.
Treatment for Hydrophobia.
The following is an extract from a
letter of M. Louis Pasteur, the eminent
French scientist to Professor Jules
Marcou: “I take a great deal of pleas
ure in the thought that on my return to
Paris I shall present to the Academy of
Sciences an account of what I believe to
be a very valuable prophylactic applicable treatment after the
B gainst hydrophobia, both and dogs. Do
accident to man you
not know some feature of this terrible
disease which may be peculiar in Amer¬
ica? Is it of frequent occurrence there?
Remember that I should have the cour¬
age to apply my treatment even had on made per¬
sons who, after being bitten,
the journey from America to Paris—al¬
though under these conditions at least
two weeks must have elapsed since the
accident—so great is my confidence in
my method. However, I shall feel more
sure of myself when I heve made a large
number of trials on man, which I shall
do in 1885-6. I have as yet made but
one trial—on an Alsatian boy, whose
mother brought him to me. He had
been bitten horribly, and death by hy
drophobia seemed unavoidable. L r pto
the present time I have excellent news
of his health, although it is sixty-foui
days since the accident.”
There are on the retired li«t of the
Boston police force about sixty-five $1 pa
trolmen, who receive a pension of a
a av<