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#4 1 lie (Crutiiforii OlHUltl) % ijcrnlti.
VOL. I.
The Grandsire.
jloveanun so; bis voice had grown
Into mf heart, an£ APW'to hear
be pretty song be had wing so long ,
! pie on the lips to me Co dear.
L just a child with golden curls,
‘ ' heai^as white as snow-
A n( j J with
] knelt down there
And made this praf V:
| “God, let me be the first to go!” 4
[ow often I recall it now—
j My darling tossing on his bed,
bitting there in mute despair,
curls that crowned his #
Smoothing the
bead; death
bey did not speak to me of
A feeling here bad told me so—
What could I say
Or do, but pray
That 1 might be the first to go?
et, thinking of him standing there—
Out yonder, as the years go by-
waiting for me to come, 1 6 ee
’Twas better he should wait, not I;
'or. when I walk the vale of death,
Above the wail of Jordan’s flow
. Shall rise a song
That shall make me strong—
The call of the child that was first to go 1
SNAKE IN THE GRASS.
The wooden clock in the kitchen
L-uck eleven as Mr. Frank Farquhar
tood knocking at the green-painted
loor.
He could hear its whirring through
111 the closed panels. * He 6aw the
plossy black cat jump on the inside
feindow-seat and rub herself against
[he Lid, panes in a friendly fashion,as could.” if she
“I would let you in if I
j The monster buttonball-tree mur-
nuved its leafy refrain overhead; the
lark-red cinnamon roses nodded know¬
ingly at him; and just then Marilla
Norton came past, carrying a pail of
ripe red cherries to preserve.
She stopped, as she saw the young
pan on the door-stone, and smiled
I Irehly.
“There ain’t no use knocking there,
ilr. Farquhar,” said Marilla, “Jenny*
Lesley’s been gone ever since nine
[’clock I this morning.”
“Gone!” ,
I “Yes, gone—to the mill picnic!”
I She could sec his countenance change
|s I he stood there.
“But 6lie told my sister that slie was
lot going. Helena has sent me over
p ask her to spend the day at the cot-
pge.”
“Told you 60 , did she, eh?” said
Marilla, iherry picking out a particularly ripe
and biting it in two. “That’s
pst like Jenny Kesley. She’s an
wfolly tricky girl. But she’s gone
i° the picnic; that’s all I know about
b Won't you stop in at our house as
r "' u go by, Mr. Farquhar? My father
ints to speak to you about the re-
irs to the academy building. He
i they
fs ought to be attended to right
May, before the vacation is over.”
Mr. Farquhar “stopped in” unwill-
I enough.. He knew too well that
I t Job Morton was the most tedious
i long-winded of men. —
iffularly disliked Mrs. Morton, who
Ns more active than any daily paper
r disseminate news and gossip through
Maria* Ullage; and Marilla herself—well,
was not so bad, if by any
p parent eans *he Mortons. could be detached from the
She was a handsome, red-cheeked
pl, with eyes as black as jet, full,
Nrlet lips and blue-black hair, grow¬
ls in a level line across her broad, low
prow—jnst the 6ort of girl, in fact,
X '“int, ' elasquez or Rubens liked to
garlanded with flowers or lean-
^ er T elvet cheek against a red-rib-
^ned mandoline,
i |*'iman. Moreover, Frank Farquhar was but
and .Marilla had taken no es-
tecial pains to hide from him the fact
F 4 * a dmired him very much in-
Ked. •«-
L‘ >And there ain’t no reason,” Mrs.
r 0rtoB i 1& d observed, “why he
jaouldn’t ' & °d marry fall i n ] ove with you, M’ril-
► you.”
I There s ono very good reason,”
[ dri la had remarked.
KNOXVILLE, CRAWFORD CO., GA., FRIDAY, JULY 11, 1890.
“What’s that?”
“Because he’s in love with Jennette
Kesley.”
“Pshaw!” 6 aid Mrs. Morton. “Jen¬
nette Kesley, indeed! Only a factory
girl, and you Deacon Morton’s darter,
and a deal prettier besides. La! she
don’t amount to nothin’!”
But Marilla herself was by no means
sure of this. Jenny Kesley was a
factory girl, to-be-sure, but many
others of the young women of Lud¬
low eked out their slender resources
by working in the factory, even
though Miss Marilla Morton turned
up her round little nose at it.
Jenny was pretty, too, in quite
another style from that of the sparkling
brunette. She was like a fair, white
lily, while Marilla rather resembled
the type of a Jacqueminot rose. Jenny
had luxuriant, gold-tinted hair, which
she wore in a plain Greek knot at the
back of her shapely head; shy blue
eyes, fringed with lashes just a shade
darker than her hair; and one of those
transparent complexions where the
blushes came and went like pink
shadows.
“Milk-ami-watery,” Mrs. Morton
disdainfully called her, but there w'ore
others who thought different.
Mrs. Morton was all smiles when
she received the young principal of
the academy.
“Walk in and set down, Mr. Far¬
quhar,” said she. “Father’ll be right
glad to see you. He’s been calculatin
to talk to you this long time. Lookin’
at that plaque? Our M’rilly painted
it. She fringed these ’ere curtings”—
as, after a prolonged wrestle with the
best-room blinds, she succeeded in
opening them. “You’11 stay to dinner,
won’t ve? M’rilly’s made some real
good cherry dumplings. She’s a first-
rate cook, MTilly is, though I say it
as shouldn’t say it.”
i 4 Oh, ma, don’t!” said Marilla.
“Well my dear, it’s the truth,” said
Mrs. Morton. “Go call your pa. Tell
him, Mr. Farquhar is here. Or mebbe
you and he’d better go down to the
side hill loi where pa’s gettin’ in hay.
That’ll be the quickest way, I guess.”
Frank Farquhar could not but smile
at the shallowness of Mrs. Morton’s
manoeuvres to secure a tete-a-tete be¬
tween him and the red-cheeked Ma¬
rilla.
“But why not?” he asked himself.
“What does it matter, after all? Since
Jenny Kesley has chosen so 4eliberate-
ly to set my wishes and advice at de¬
fiance, it seems as if little else were of
much consequence in this world. Ma¬
rilla is a sweet, affectionate little
thing, and I think she likes me.”
Ashe walked along the daisied foot¬
path that wound through the meadow,
with Marilla prattling artlessly at his
side, he mentally reviewed the situa¬
tion.
There was, on this blight summer
dav, one of those monster picnics that
twist the idea of enjoyment out of all
shape. A band, a chartered steam
barge, all the young people of Ludlow
and its neighbor, Irontown—in short,
a jam.
“It will be very nice,” Jenny bad
said, wistfully. “And I get so little
amusement.”
“Not nice at all,” Helena Farquhar
had quickly respouded. “There will
be a tremendous crowd, and a miscel-
laneous one into the bargain, You’ll
find yourself thrown into all sorts of
companionship, And there will be
refreshments and a bar on board—and
Frank wouldn’t think of allowing me
to go!”
Jenny glanced up with a smile at
Frank’s grave, earnest face.
“What would you advise?” 6 he had
asked.
“16 my advice worth anythiig to
you?” deal.”
“Yes, a great
“Then do not go.”
And Jenny had answered in her
frauk, straightforward \yay* i
“I will not.”
The words of this little conversation
had no especial significance. It was
the manner in which they were spoken
that set Frank Farquhar's heart to
beating, and brought the blushes to
Jennette Kesley’s delicate cheeks.
And now, after all, she had gone!
“Whom did she go with?” he asked
abruptly, breaking into the midst of
one of Marilla Morton’s most softly-
lisped sentences.
“She? Oh, you mean Jenny
Kesley! With—ahem!—with George
Plat!! He’s a great admirer ol
her’s.”
“An admirer! Of Miss Kesley’s?”
“Y r es. Didn’t you know it?”
Marilla blushed scarlet as she 9poke
the words. She felt herself plunging
deeper and deeper into «lhe quagmire
of falsehood and equivocation. She
had begun the day with a lie, and
there was no backing out of it now.
No matter, she told herself, the
game was “worth the candle.” It
was Frauk Farquhar whose love was
in question, She must disenchant
him, once and forever, with Jcnnette
Kesley!
“He came for her in a carriage,”
she added, recklessly, “I didn’t
know that his devotion to her was any
secret.”
Mr. Farquhar turned short around.
“George Piatt has not gone -to the
picnic,” said he. “1 saw him work¬
ing in his shop as I went by. And—”
He checked himself abruptly at the
soft sound of children’s voices.
As the two pedestrians entered a se¬
cluded glade, carpeted with the softest
of green turf and shaded with the in¬
tertwining branches of beech and
maple trees, they came most unawares
on a little party—Jennette Kesley, all
in white, with blue ribbons tied in her
hair and at her slim throat, and the
six pretty little girls, also in white,
who constituted heiv Sunday School
class. 4 %
Little Lola Patterson, the youngest
and sauciest of the party, began to
clap her plump.hands exultantly.
“It’s Mr. Farquharl” 6aid she.
“Please, Miss Kesley, ask him to come
and have a picnic with us, too. I
like Mr. Farquhar! ”
Jennette rose to her feet, coloring
deeply.
“He is very welcome,” she said,
“if”—
And then ehe stopped. Mr. Farqu¬
har had looked at Marilla Morton,
“You told me,” said he, “that Miss
Kesley had gone to the mill picnic.”
“I—I supposed she had,” faltered
Miss Morton, secretly wishing herself
as fortunate as the little striped chip,
rnunk who just then darted into the
hollow’ 1 of an old tree near by, and
vanished from sight. “How was I to
know?”
“You told me that you wished m«
not to go,” said Jenny simply, “And
the mill-doors were closed, so I could
not work. So I got my little class,
and we are enjoying the summer day
together iu the wood .”
Frank Farquhar’s eyes were full of
rapturous delight as he looked into
Jenny’s face.
“Then,” said he, “I’ll accept your
invitation and 6 tay and picnic here
with you.”
i < And I,” said Marilla, sharply,“will
go on home, as I do not seem to be
wanted here!”
Jennette walked to the cottage with
Frank, after the dimpled little girls,
with their arms full of wild-flowers
and their mouths pink with cherry
juice, had been safely left at their re¬
spective homes, in the twilight She
spent the evening with Helena Far¬
quhar, and Frank took her home at
night.
And the next day everybody in Lud¬
low 1 seemed to know by some occult
process, that Mr. Farquhar and Miss
Kesley were engaged.
Some Beauties of the Garden.
There is a certain fascination about
a little plot of ground all one’s own.
It becomes invested with dignity; it
is a freehold—a miniature world to
people and governs as one wills.
Just a bare, soft, brown square ol
friable earth—but with what possibili-
ties! Across it there may move in
succession, splendid pageants of color
and form; pulplc plumes may wave,
golden chalices be upheld to the sun
azure campanulas ring out the hour;
grim monkshood may look solemn,
“ardent marigolds” flaunt their gaudy
robes, says Good Housekeeping.
There will be silver, ruby and ame¬
thystine tints, and tenderest greens;
there will be floods of perfume, swift¬
ly darting humming birds, hovering
butterflies and mysterious night moths.
To evolve these possibilities, it is best
to follow the advice of Horace: “Be-
gin; getting out of doors is the great¬
est part of the journey.” Undoubted¬
ly this is true, for, once having
plunged our hands in the moist, warm
earth, a sort of magnetic current is es¬
tablished between us and our rugged
first in o'her, and we watch with in¬
tense interest the growth of the tiny
seedling and its development into the
fair, perfect flower.
It is wiso not to undertake too much
at first. . The beds prepared, there are
the “collections” which the seedsmen
tl oughtfully arrange for the benefit of
the amateHr, and as they arc accom¬
panied by explicit directions, with just
a little painstaking the most satisfac¬
tory results are seen to follow. Once
successful with the hardy sorts,' the
more delicate may be essayed, and
then the field is the world.
Among the roses, the beauty of the
garden the past year, was a bush of
Polyantha rose, of the variety Mile.
Cecile Brunner. In color it is of an
exquisite salmon pink, deeper in the
centre; and while the half-open rose is
lovely, nothing can compare with the
dainty little buds, which are ideal for
button-hole bouquets. Little White
Pet, Perle d’Or and Mignonette are
also desirable, while this year we have
George Pernet, in color buff rose,
delicately shaped with lemon and
fawn; and Blanche Rebatel, which, as
it is bright carmine shaded with rose,
will be something new in this class.
These Japan roses are free bloomers,
perfectly healthy and hardy, delicious¬
ly fragrant, admirable for decorative
purposes,
A Service That Kills.
According to M. Duchesne, railroad
men improve in health during the first
four years, but at the end of 10 3 e irs
they are tired out, in 15 they are ac¬
tual sufferers, and few can remain in
the service after 20. These general
conclusions have been supplemented
by Dr. Lichtenberg of Buda-Pesth,
who found from examination that out
of 250 railway employes 92, or more
than a third, suffered from car dis-
ease. Engine drivers are especially
liable to rheumatism and pneumonia,
and after some years of service a cer¬
tain portion of them become dull of
sight and hearing. Others suffer from
a mild form of spinal concussion,
muscular feebleness and continuous
pains in the limbs. They are apt to
develop -a peculiar mental state—a
sort of cerebral irritation—with exces-
sive nervousness and morbid sensation
of fear.
Wkjr Not?
“Would you care to face a burglar
alone in a house, Miss Waxey?
He asked this because she had led
the conversation up to a sort of house¬
hold atmosphere, and he didn’t know
what else to say.
“Not if I had a man to protect me,”
she answered, bearing down bard on
his left ^oulder.
“Why, Miss Waxey, what—why—
wouldn’t I suit as weH?”— [Philadel¬
phia Times.
NO. 21.
PEARLS OF THOUGHT.
The brightest gold lies the deepest.
Play is what a boy doosn’t have to
do.
a man generally walks the way he
Every man is ruled by\ what he
loves. ^
* the first
The right cross for you is
one you find.
Love always works for nothing and
boards itself. %
The wisest man is the one who
knows himself.
Don’t keep telling yourself how gen¬
erous you are.
Money that has blood on it won’t
buy very much-
A starving man won’t find fault
with the table cloth.
The things which cause us the most
trouble never happen.
People who do not believe much
never accomplish much.
To rebel against that which is good
proves that wc are bad.
The weakest man is the one who it a
slave to his own desires.
No man will ever feel right until he
believes right and behaves right.
The most agreeable people in the
world are those who agree with us.
It is easier not to speak at all than,
it is to keep from saying too much.
What some people call prudence, is
often only another name for meanness.
The same surgeon who will tender¬
ly bind up a wound will cut off a
limb.
Deeds of love are more precious
than jewels, because they cau not be
bought.
The man who is willing to do wrong
in order to gain riches cau never enjoy *
them.— [Indianapolis Ham’s Horn.
The Growth of the Piano.
The piauo, as we see it today, is the
growth of centuries of invention. In
its infancy it was a harp with two or
three strings. From time to time
more strings were added, and after a
while the eithara was born, The
cithara was in the shape of the letter
P and had ten strings. It took many
centuries for musicians to get the idea
of stretching the strings across an open
box, hut somewhere about the year
1200 this was thought of and the dul¬
cimer made its appearance, the strings
being struck with hammers. For an¬
other hundred years these hammers
were held in the hands of the player,
and then a genius invented a key¬
board, which, being slrutsk by the fin¬
gers, moved the hammers.
This instrument was called a clavi-
cytherium, or keyed cithara. This
underwent some modifications and im¬
provements from time to time. In
Queen Elizabeth’s time it was called a
virginal. Then it wa6 called a spine,
because the hammers were covered
with spines of quills, which struck or
caught the strings of wires and pro-
duced the sound, From 1700 to 1800
it was much enlarged and improved,
and called a harpischord, and this was
the instrument that Lady Washington,
Mrs. Hamilton and fine ladies of our
revolutionary' times played on.
In 1710 Bartolomeo Cristofoli, an
Italian, invented a key or key-board,
such as we have now substantially,
which causes hammers to strike the
wires from above and thus developed
the piano, In the past hundred and
fifty years there is no musical instru¬
ment which has so completely ab-
sorbed the inventive faculty of man as
the piano. At the present day the up¬
right piano has the field almost entire¬
ly to itself and has reached such ft
high grade of perfection in shape,
tone and appearance that there would
appear to be n<* possibility of further
improvement.