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Old Age.
When on the furrowed cheeks of Age
Care’s hollow wrinkles show,
The old man turns his life’s last page
With trembling hand and slow.
Dark lower the skies; in every sound
Death’s mournful dirge he hears;
And wearily the days go round,
The weeks, the months, the years.
The lady of his love, alas!
Hath closed her gentle eyes.
With but one tiny tuft of grass
To show him where she lies.
“Old wife of mine!’’ he whispers low,
“Above thy grave I see
The star of Faith, whose beams I know,
Shall guide me soon to thee!”
WON AT SIGHT.
We had been upon the Mediterranean
station for about a year, when our com
mander ordered the ship to head for
Marseilles.
I was then a young midshipman, and
enjoyed the leave on shore in a foreign
port with boyish delight. There w'ere
six in our mess, and wo managed to get
shore leave so as to be together, when
it was possible to do so. This was the
case one fine Sunday in tlio month of
December, as mild aud summer-like in
the south of France as a New England
May day.
The singular experience of one of our
number I have often told since about
the mess table or camp fire, but have
never put it into print.
We were strolling on the square
known as Le Cours 8t. Louis, a sort of
permanent flower market, where the
women sit enthroned in tent-like stalls
of wood, encircled by their bright,
beautiful and fragrant wares, while the
manner of arranging (he stalls, so that
the vender sits raised seme six feet in
the air, gave a novel effect to the scone.
We watched with special delight these
b!ack-cytd, black-ha red and rosy
ehecked girls, the b ash of health in
their faces fairly rivalling that of their
scarlet flowers. With busy fingers
they arranged iu dainty combinations
the vivid and delicate colors, relieved
by fresh green leaves an 1 trailing vines
of sm:lax, while we young middies
joked pleasantly with them and bought
fabulous quantities of bouquets.
While we were idling away the hour
in Le Coins St. Louis, with these
roguish and pretty flower venders, we
were all thrown into a state of amaze
inent and curiosity by the appearance of
a young girl of about 17, who rushed
among us with a startling speed, and
who, hardly pausing to lcgaia her
breath, said, in excellent English:
“You are Amer cans, and I trust,
gentlemen. Is there one among you
who will marry me?”
“We will all marry you,” was the in
stnnt response, accompanied by hearty
laughter.
“Ah, you are in sport, but I am in
tamest. Who will marry me?”
There seemed to be no joke after all.
The girl was positively in earnest and
looked at one and all of us as coolly,
yet earnestly, as possible.
“Here, Harry,” said one who was
rather a leader among us, and aidless
ing Harry, “you want a wife,” and he
gave our comrade a slight push toward
the girl,
For some singular reason Harry took
the matter much more in earnest than
the rest of us, and regarded the new
comer with a most searching but re
spectful glance. Approaching her he
said:
“I do not kuow exactly svhat you
mean, but I can understand by your ex
pression of face that you are quite in
earnest. Will you take my arm and let
«s walk to one side?”
“Yes; but I have no time to lose,”
,and taking his arm, they walked away
together.
We looked upon the affair as some
well-prepared joke, but were a little an
noyed at the uon-appearance of Hairy
at our rendezvous on the quay. Our
leaiecxjired at sunset, aud wo dared
not wait for him, as Captain D ■was
a thorough disciplinarian, and we didn’t
care to provoke him and thus endanger
our next Sunday’s leave.
On board we went, therefore, leaving
Harry on shore. When we reported the
question was, of course, asked where
Midshipman B was, to which query
we could return no proper answer, as
we really did not know', lie knew per
fectly well that we must all be at the
boat lauding just bob re sunset. It was
plain enough to us all that there was
trouble brewing for our messmate.
Harry did not make his apperance un
lil ihe next day at noon, when he pulled
to the ship in a shore boat, and, com
ing on boa r d, reported at once to the
SCHLEY COUNTY NEWS.
captain, who stood upon the quarter
deck, and asked the privilege of a pri
vate interv ew.
The circumstances connected with the
absence of Harry were very peculiar, and
as he was one of the most correct fel
lows on board, his request was granted
by the captain, -who retired to his cabin,
followed by the delinquent, After re
maining with the commander for near
ly an hour, he came out and joined us.
“What is the upshot of it, Harry?”
we asked.
“Well, lads, I’m married—that’s
all.”
“Alarried? ’ asked the mess, ia oac
voice.
“Tied for life!” svas the answer.
“Hard and fast?”
“Irrevocably. ”
“To that little craft yon scudded
away with? ’
“Exactly. As good and pure a girl
as ever lived,” said Harry, earnestly.
“W-h-e-w!’ whispered cue and all.
“How did Old Neptune let you off?”
we all eageily inquired—that being the
name the captain went by on board.
“He is hard on me,” said Harry, seri
ously, “What do you think he de
mands, lads?”
“Can t say; what is it?”
< i If I don’t resign, he will send me
home in disgrace.” That’s his ultima
tum.”
“W-h-e-w!” again from all hands.
“Let’s get up a petition for Harry,”
suggested one.
“It’s of no use, lads, I know he
means what he says. He lias given me
a while to think it over.”
It was all with
C apt. D-was a severe, but an ex
cellent officer, and he had only given
the delinquent the alternative of resign
ing or being sent home in disgrace.
The fact that he had g>t married in the
manner he described, in place of palliat
ing matters, only aggravated the cap
tain beyond measure. He declared it
•was a disgrace to the s rvice, and a
breach of propriety not to be over
looked.
Harry told us his story in a desultory
manner, interrupted by many questions
and ejaculations, but which wn wall put
into a simple form for the convenience
of the reader.
Julie Meurice was the orphan child of
a merchant, who had been of high
standing during his life, and who left a
handsome fortune to endow his daugh
ter on her wedding day, or, if not mar
ried before, she was to receive the prop
er: y on coming to the age of 20 years.
Her mother had died in her infancy,
and the father, when she was 10 years
of age, placed her in a convent to be
educated, where she remained until his
death, which occurrred suddenly, six
months previous to the period of our
sketch.
After his death Julio became the
ward of her uncle, by the tenor of her
father’s will, and the period of her edu
cational course having just chased at the
convent, Hubert Meurice, the uncle,
brought her home to his family circle,
Madame Meurice, it appears, was a
scheming, calculating woman, and
knowing that Julie would lie an heiress,
she tried every way to promote her in
tiinacy w r ith her own son. who was an
uncouth and ignorant youth of 18 years
without one attractive point in his char
acter.
Hubert Meurice, the uncle of Julie,
was a sea captain, whose calling carried
him much away fiom his home. Dur
ing his absenca his wife treated Julie
with the u most tyranny, even keeping
her locked up in her room for days to
gether, telling her that when she would
consent to marry her son. Hubert, she
wou’d release her and do all she could
to make her happy. But to this Julie
could not consent. Imprisonment even
was preferable to accepting her awk
ward and repulsive cousin.
One day she overheard a conversation
between her aunt and her hopeful
son, wherein the mystery of hsr treat
ment was solved.
The boy asked his mother what was
the use of bothering aud importuning
Julie so.
“If she doesn’t want to marry me,
mother, drop the matter. I like Julie,
and she would make mo a nice little
wife, but I don’t want her aguiust her
will.”
“You are a fool,” said the mother.
“You know nothing about the matter.
Her father's wilt endows her with a for
tune at her marriage, even if it be at 17,
just her present age. At 20 she receives
the fortune at any rate. Now, don’t
you see if you marry her we arc nil fixed
for life?”
“Does Julie know about the money?"
he asked.
“No, of course not.”
“It’s a little sharp on her/’ said the
boy.
“I’m looking out for you,” said the
mother.
“Just so,” mused the hopeful.
‘‘I am resolved that she shall marry
you, and that is why I keep her locked
up, so that she may not see some one
she would like better.”
“Lots of money, eh? Well, mother,
let’s go in and win. When shall it be?”
“It must be at once.”
“The sooner the better.”
“Your father is expected home next
week. I want you to be married before
lie returns. He approves of it, but is a
little too delicate about pressing mat
ters so quickly. I know that no time is
like the present time, so I have been
making arrangements to bring this
about immediately.”
This was enough for Julie, She un
derstood the situation fully now, and
saw that her aunt would hesitate at
nothing. The poor child feared her
beyond description and had yielded to
her in everything, save this one pur
pose of her marriage with Hubert.
Julie was a very gentle girl; one upon
whom her aunt could impose with im
punity. She had no idea of asserting
her rights, much less of standing up for
them. But she was thoroughly fright
ened now', and resolved to escape at auy
cost fioni the tyranny which bound her.
No fate could be worse she thought than
to be compel ed to marry that coarse,
vulgar and repulsive creature.
Yes, she would run away at once
The poor chiid—for she was little more
—had not asked herself where she
should go. She had no other relations
that she knew of in the world, and the
isolated life she had always led had
caused her to form no intimacies, or
even to make friends with those of her
own age. Indeed with this prospective
fortune, yet she was virtually alone and
unprotected, and without a relation
whom she did not look upon as her
enemy.
The next day after Julie had heard
this information was Sunday, the gayest
day of the week in Marseilles, and, for
tunately, Julie succeeded in making her
escape from her aunt’s house. Still un
decided where to go, and in her desper
ation fearing that at any moment she
might be seized and carried back, she
had wandered into the flower market,
where she came upon us, already de
scribed.
As she explained to Harry afterward,
she was intent only upon escape, and
believed this to be her last chance.
When she saw a half dozen young
Americans, who seemed perfectly re
spectable, the idea that positive safety
lay only in marriage dawned upon her,
and she actually ran toward us, as we
have related, the moment the thought
developed itself.
Harry became more and more im
pressed with Julie’s story as they walked
along, while he was delighted by her
innocent beauty and manifest refine
ment. It was all like a dream, almost
too romantic for truth. Our “fate”
sometimes comes to us in this singular
fashion, he thought, “Tlaerc is a tide
in the affairs of men which, taken at
the flood, leads on to fortune.” Sud
denly he turned to her and said:
“Dare you trust me with your hap
piness?”
She lookei at him thoughtfully with
her soft, pleading eyes. Her brain was
very busy; she remembered what awaited
her at home, what had driven her
thence, and then, in reply to his sober
question, she put both ot her hands into
his with child-like trust.
They wandered on. Julie had always
plenty of money in her purse, and they
strolled into a little chapel on their way,
where they found a young clergyman,
who could not resist their request to
marry them, and so, though reluctantly
and advising proper delay, he performed
the marriage ceremony, aided by the
sexton aud his wife, who each received
a Napoleon.
As an inducement, Harry had also
told the clergymen that he was just go
ing to sea, and that he must be married
before he sailed, that not even one hour
was to be lost.
Julio came out of the chapel the wife
of Harry B., who went with her to tlio
Hotel du Louvre. From here he sent a
pressiug note to the American Consul,
who came to him early tire next morn
ing, and by the earnest persuasion of
it irry, the consul agree l to take the
young wife to his own house, until
matters should be settled as it regarded
their future course. In the consul’s hou e,
Julie found a pleasant and safe retreat
for the time being.
Whatever might be said with regar 1
to the propriety of the young folk’s con
duct, it could not be undone. They
were irrevocably united as husband and
wife. Harry was forced, however, to
resign his commission. By the aid of
the Consul, Julie’s rights in relation to
her fortune under her father’s w.ll were
fully realized, and she came almost im
mediately -with her young husband to
America.
Harry B., by means of proper in
fluence once more entered the navy, the
second timo as lieutenant, and now
wears a captain's epaulets. —New York
News.
Names of Plants.
The number of coun'ries which have
contributed their quota to the nomen
clature of English plants is legion. Be
ginning with France we have the dent
de lion—lion’s tooth—whence we de
rive our dandelion. The flower-de-luce,
again, which Mr. Dyer thinks was a
name applied to the iris, comes to us
through the French fleur de Louis—tra
dition asserting that thii plant was
worn as a device by King Louis VII. of
France. Buckwheat is derived from
the Dutch word bcckweit, and adder’s
tongue from a word in the same lan
guage, adde stong. In like minuer
the name tulip is traceable to the word
tlionlyban in the Persian language—sig
nifying a turban. So, too, our English
word lilac is nothing more than an
anglicized form of another word in the
Persian tongue, viz., lilag. A large
number of plants owe their names to
those by whom they were first discovered
and introduced into other climes. The
fuchsia stands indebted f r its name
to Leonard Fuchs, an eminent Ger
man botanist, and the dahlia was so
named in honor of a Swedish botanist
named Dahl. A long list of plant names
might be formed which bear what might
be termed animal and bird prefixes—as,
for example, horse beans, horse chest
nuts, dog violets and dog roses; cats’
faces, a name applied to the plant
knowm to botanical students as the viola
tricolor; cat’s eyes,veronica chamaedrys;
c .ts’ tails and catkins. The goose grass
is known to the country people in
Northamptonshire as pig tail, and in
Yorkshire a name given to the fruit of
the orataegus oxyacantha is bull horns.
Many plant names have been suggested
by the feathered iace, particularly goose
tongue, cuckoo buds (namtioned by
Shakspearc), cuckoo flowers, stork’s
bill and crane’s bill. One of the popu
lar names of the arum is “parson in tha
pulpit” and a Devonshire term for tha
sweet scabriosis is “mournful widow.”
The campion is not infrequently called
“plum pudding,” and in the neighbor
hood of Torquay it is not unusual to
hear fir cones spoken of as “oysters.” —
Gent em in's M igaz ne.
Queer London Names.
Queer names certainly are found in
the London, England, general registry
of births, at Somerset House. Far ex
ample, young scions of tlie families of
Bath, Limb, Jordan, Dew, Dear, and
Smith are christened respectively Foot,
Pascal, River, Morning, Offspring, and
Smith Follows. Mr. Cox called his son
Arthur Wellesly Wellington Waterloo.
Mr. Jewett, a noted huntsman, named
his E Iward Byng Tally II» Forivard.
A mortal that was evidently un
welcome recorded as “One
Too Many. Another of the same
sort is “Not Wanted James.” Chil
dren with six to ten names are frequent,
'but probably the longest name in th«
world, longer than that of any poten
tate, is attached to the child of Arthur
Pepper, laundryman. Tiie name of his
daughter, born 18S3, is Anna Bertha
Ccccilia Diana Emily Fanny Gertrude
Hypatia Inez June Kate Louise Maud
Nora Ophelia Quince Rebecca Starkey
Tereza Ulysis (sic) Venus W in fred
Xenophon Yetty Z jus Pepper—one title
precisely for every letter of the alpha
bet. — Chicago lleiaid.
A Peculiar Gas Well Accident.
A peculiar accident occurred at a gat
well near Anderson, Ind. The well is
a phenomenal one, and has so far defied
all attempts to pack it. Henry Loffncr,
one of tho drillers, while passing the
well extended his arm some two or
three feet from its mouth, but directly
over it, when the force of the gas blew
his arm to a pjrpandicular position with
such violence as to dislocate it at tin
shoulder.
Remember Me.
When shadows o'er the earth are creepjmr
And stars peep through the skies, *’
When b Fellings in their nests are sleepi
And slumbering lies, a <S » * I
nature
And when the midnight moon is shining I
Across the tranquil sea, I
O, thou for whom my soul is pining, I
Remember me! j
And when the rosy morn is coming
Across the eastern hills,
And blithe birds wake, and bees ars n Unv
ming,
And nature’s great heart thrills!
When all the happy world is waking,
To glad activity,
O, thou for whom my heart is breaking,
Remember me!
And through the daylight’s changing hours,
The quiet rest at noon;
When lingering kisses warn the flowers
They must be closing soon.
And when the golden sun is setting
In peaceful majesty,
O, thou for whom nay heart is still regret.
fin J,
.
Reme:n v er me!
At morning, midnight, noon and V'–4
even,
At every time or place,
When winter's icy blasts are driven
In springtime’s budding grace.
When summer d eks the world with beauty
When dea l leaves strew the lea,
O, thou whose least wish is still my duty,
Remember me!
—Don Shelton in Courier-Journal.
HUMOROUS.
Soma strong holes—Safe deposit
vaults.
A wild bore—trying to get oil out of
a solid reck.
A colicky baby at night is athletic; it
can raise the house.
The good die young. This is par
ticularly true of ducks.
A man ibust be pretty sick of work
when he thr^r'? up his job.
Corn always comes up quickest about
the time young crows begin to fl^.
In poultry circles the old hen geuVi*.
ally proves her good standing by her
setting.
A sea captain who is the most wreck
loss is the one who ought to receive the
biggest salary.
“He owes everything lie has to me.”
“That’s bad. lie owes a great deal
more than he has to me.”
One of the interesting experiments in
popular chemistry is wheu a youth feeds
his flume with ice ci<am.
It does not necessarily follow that a
sailor is a small man becfltjse he some
times sleeps on his watch.
Munchausen F. Gulliver • ha
been relating an incident)—“Ylu look
surprised 1” Faxon Trueman—f “Yes; I
know it’s true.”
Emma— “Your hat is perfectly charm
ing, and it suits you so well. ” Marie
— “Oh, yes; but if you only knew what
a fearful fainting fit it cost me!”
Mrs. Gazzam (to her daughter)—Ma
bel, you should keep an eye on Mr.
Looker. He’s a splendid catch. Mr.
Gazzam—What club docs he catch for?
A company has been organized in
Philadelphia “to bury its subscribers on
the installment plan.” B it no man
wants to be buried in installments, un
less he is the victim of some uptown
blasting contractor.
Trees on a Court House.
Greensburgh, Ind., has long been
noticed for the singular phenomenon of
the trees growing oi the Court House
tower. The first tree made its appear
ance in 1864—a tiny green shoot on top
of the tower—and was the cause of
much wonder and interest, Its devel
opment was eagerly watched, and as its
steady growth continued it became
known as the Loue Tree. As y ears
passed the tree grew and assumed
greater and more graceful proportions
and flourished in spite of its lofty posi
tion, expose l to the wind an:l storm.
Other trees have since made their ap
penrance on different sides of the tower,
until there are now seven, which, with
their bright green foliage showing in
pretty contrast against tho dull white
stone, mako a charming picturo, out
lined against the blue sky. During the
repairs of the Court House now iu pro
gress a scaffolding was built around tho
tower, and the removal of tho trees dis
cussed. An examination was made and
the largest tree reported,to be inches
in circumference and 5 feet 10 high.
No damage was being done by them,
and it was decided to allow thou to re
main, as the crevico in tlio stone roofing
made by the roots of tho trees show an
opening of only lj. inches. Tho tower
is 1. 3 loot li gh, of solid masonry, and
how the trees find non 'ishment to suitaia
them is a ma ter of great wonder.