Newspaper Page Text
%»*•+*
WttSHKAHK W!CKKI> FOLKS HUHIKD
*T«*!I top, gr»r-lie»ilod sextos,” 1 uid,
"WtK*rp in tilu field in the wicked folks laid t
1 have wandered the quiet old graveyard
through,
An*I studied the epitaphs, old and row;
(futon monument, obelisk, pillar, or atone
I read of no evil that men have done."
The old sexton stood by a grave newly made,
With his chin on his hand, his hand on a
spade;
1 knew by the gleam of his eloquent eye
That hie heart waa instructing bis lips to
reply.
“Who is to judge when the soul takes its
flight?
Who is to judge 'twixt the wrong and the
right?
Which of us mortals shall dare to say 9
That our neighbor was wicked who died to¬
day?
“In ©nr journey through life, the further we
•peed,
The better we learn that humanity’s need
Da charity's spirit, that prompts us to find
Bather virtue than vice in the lives of our
kind.
♦Therefore, good deeds we record on these
.atones;
The evil men do, let it die with their bones.
I have labored aa sexton this many a year,
Bat I never have buried a bad man here.”
—Truth Seeker.
THAT DAY IN HIS BOAT.
II was a wild night. The wind blew,
the rain drove, the waves roared in the
distance.
it had been a fateful day to me.
Grandfather Delmar, with whom I had
lived ever since I could remember, had
been earned to his final home that after
atmon, and now I was the last representa¬
tive of onr name. The wide acres of the
Delmar plantation, originally one of the
largest estates on the eastern shore of
Maryland, had come down to me as sole
heiress. To me also had descended the
Delmar diamonds, whioh had blazed on
the persons of the Delmar ladies. I say
descended, bnt I am hardly correct, for
theae broad lands and these priceless
jewels were mine only^mnder the will of
my grandfather, and that will contained
m proviso which I had just learned for
the first time. I was to marry Randolph
Heath, the ward, and adopted son of my
grandfather, or else the entire property
waa to go to this self-same Randolph.
The will had just been read. The fu¬
neral guests, or at least, the most im¬
portant of them, had listened to it in
the gieat drawing-room below, the
wails of whioh were hung with portraits
of my Delmar ancestors, handsome men
and lovely, golden-haired women.
“Charlotte,” said my aunt, when the
reading of the will was ended—“Char¬
lotte, my dear, yon must invite our
triends for the night. You are mistress
now.”
“I shall never be mistress of Delmar
flail, Annt Mordaunt,” I said, firmly.
She clutched my arm, her eyes wide
with wonder.
“And why not, pray ?”
“Because of the proviso. I will
never wed Randolph Heath.”
Her faoe whitened to the hue of
death. She was a lone widow, and 1
was her idol; and she Coveted all those
:jewels and rich acres for my heritage.
For a moment we stood breathless.
“But Randolph Heath’s in Australia,”
suggested a friend, “and you are mis¬
tress at least until he returns.” \
Poor aunty oaught at this last hope
with a gasp of relief.
“So you are, my dear,” she put in;
“we’ll leave all these disagreeable things
to be settled in the future. To-night,
friends, we will shut the doors against
the storms and be comfortable.”
She swept off toward the glowing
parlor, followed by her guests, while I
fled away to my own chamber.
The afternoon, as I have said, had
turned into rain and the waves thundered
on the shores of the bay close by with
.» hoarse cry, like a human heart in
gtoMn I paced my room restlessly. I
. oould not marry this Randolph Heath,
.whose lace I had not looked upon since
clays nt my early ontatnood. i uouiu
not do it, for another face arose before
me, in the face of the man I loved. A
poor man, landless and unknown, yet
who had grown so dear to me in the feu*
brief months of our summer acquaint#
anoe that to give him up were worse
Delmar, (
than death. Yet 1 was a
It .« • Bore total to loie my
to lone Uie Delmar joweta. All tho Del
mar women before me had worn theae
ST? SLftrSLS&ZTJi
dowarlee. ?
**Yes, cheerfully,” I said; “since to
keep them I must give up the choice of
my heart. Dear, dear summer days 1”
For it had been during a visit to a
school friend, who lived in one of the
loveliest oonnties of Pennsylvania, that
I had met, the preceding June, Herbert
Stanley. For the first time in my life I
had found in him a perfectly congenial
soul We liked the same poetry, pre¬
ferred the same music, admired the
same aoenery. Ah 1 what delirious d» 7 .
those were. HWe rode, we walked, we
•ailed, we read together. Our acquaint¬
ance soon passed into intimacy, and
from that ripened into love.
Never eould 1 forget the day, the
blissful day, when my hopes became
a certainty. Herbert had asked me the
evening before if I would go with him in
his boat. No knight of old oould have
handed me into the little vessel more
reverentially than he did. How manly
he looked! How strong and self-con¬
tained I My heart beat fast, for some¬
thing in his manner told mo what was
ooming, but I was inexpressibly happy,
nevertheless. He rowed for about half
bk hour; then stopping, he lay upon
his oars, and looking me in the face like
a brave heart as he was, told his tale,
though with many a hesitating word
and many a look of anxiety.
Should I give such a one up ? Never!
Yet the temper of my thoughts was such
that I could not stay in-doors ! I left
the house and ran down to the shore of
the bay, having first thrown a shawl
over my head. The storm andidarkness
was terrific, and the tide was qbming in
with a hoarse, sullen cry. The salt
mist drenched my hair, the winds tore
and shrieked around me, and overhead
hung the pitch-black sky.
Suddenly I heard a step and, looking
up, saw Herbert himself. I started with
surprise.
“I have been hovering about all day,”
he said. “I had given up hope of see¬
ing you. But still I eould not tear my
sejfaway. ”
“You did not doubt me?” I cried.
“Oh, Herbert 1”
My look, my tone, even more than my
words, reassured him.
“Thank God l” he said, drawing a
deep breath. “Thank God ! It is not
true, then, what I hear. You are not
going to betray me ?”
“Betray you?”
“I was told you were to be disinherit¬
ed unless you married Randolph Heath,
and that the temptation has been too
great for you. I did not believe it. And
yet, and yet—forgive me, darling, I see
I was wrong—I was fearfully afraid.”
“Be afraid no longer,” I whispered,
nestling to his broad breast “What are
broad acres and gleaming jewels to your
dear love? I am yours and yours
only.”
He bent and kissed me. After a while
he said, “I do not fear for your fidelity,
but I do fear for the persecution yon
may suffer. It is but a short walk to
the little ohuroh. I know the rector;
he was, I find, one of my old school¬
mates. Be mine to-night and I will go
away content. Not till you permit it
shall the marriage be made public.”
“I am yours,” I said, “but lot it be
to-morrow evening. I will tell my aunt
in a day or two afterward. Poor aunt,
it will need that time to prepare her.”
It was arranged, therefore, that I
should meet my lover av the same hour
next evening, and with a parting em¬
brace I hurried in, lest I should be
missed.
A tint Mordaunt vu in a flutter of ex
eifoment the next morning. She bad
just reoctved a letter saying that Ban
dolph Heath hud returned and would be
ft t Ddinar Hall *>y sunset,
» Now§ charlotte, my love,” she said
tmutling into my chamber before I was
aW ake, “do try and look your best to
njgbt Yoo aro a j know> bBt a
c tj arm | D g toilet set. you off amazingly,
4 ^ o(I bcaTy orape j mt for to
ldy-of-the-ralley * •»* ™ *“;! totominga wh ! t# Ton m«t
fascinate this Bandolph Heath at the
outset; it will be quite comfortable to
have him at your feet, for you must
marry him, my dear; you are too sensi¬
ble girl to make a beggar of yourself. ”
a
I only smiled in answer, and I suf¬
fered my maid to array me in the
dainty silk. Bnt at set of snn, instead
of receiving Randolph Heath in the
grand parlors of the hall I was speeding
away with my lover toward the old
, dmroh, , . . built of . , bricks . , im- .
ported from England a century and a
half before; the church where the Del
mars for five generations had been
married. In the soft glitter of the early
starlight we were wedded. An hour
after I was home again. But as I as¬
cended to my room I remembered that
I had looked my last upon the blinking
Delmar diamonds and on the broad
ds of the hall.
I had hardly dosed the door behind
me when my aunt entered.
“Charlotte, you must come down at
once; you must indeed,” she said.
“Randolph is in the drawing-room and
ks to see you. Don’t be odd. Here,
oile, do your young lady’s hair.
I stood uncertain.
■“And now, my dear, do put on your
diamonds,” continued poor auntie, flut¬
tering round me; “you should always
wear gems, they become you.”
“Bnt, auntie, the diamonds are not
mine,” I began, wishing time to think.
I was almost ready, then and there,
to tell the truth. But I pitied auntie
and hesitated. j
“But they will be, mv love, as soon
as you marry Randolph Heath,” she
urged.
“I shall never marry him,” I an
swered.
“We shall see, my love. At any rate,
come down and welcome him. That
muoh is due, at the least. ”
This decided me. It was his due.,
As we descended to the grand drawing¬
room where my grandfather’s adopted
son awaited us, I stopped for a moment
on the stairs and gazed around me with
almost a sigh of regret. In a few days
I must go out from the dear old place
disowned and disinherited. Poor auntie!
the blow will fall heavily on her.
Shutting my hand involuntarily over
the marriage ring upon my finger, I fol¬
lowed my aunt, my heart in my mouth.
A tall figure arose as we mitered and ad¬
vanced to meet us. I heard my aunt’s
warm word of welcome, and then I felt
my own hands grasped, and looked up.
I cried* out in amazement, for the
stranger was Herbert Stanley, my new
ly-wedded husband.
“Can I hope that you will ever for¬
give me?” he said, with a smile. “I am
Randolph Heath. I have known of the
proviso to your graudfather’s wui for
years. But as I wanted you to love m 5
for myself, if you eould, I planned t •
meet you last summer. Can you forgive
me?”
I looked up into his dear, kind face
•‘No matter who you are, or what you
planned,” I answered, putting my hand
In his, “I forgive you. for I love you.’
Then we told the story of our marriage.
Aunt Mordaunt* listened in horrified
“^Ai/ndiscreet thing, to say the least,
mv love” she said; “you might have
committed a grave mistake. It is ail
right Binoe you’ve married Mr. Heath,
But really, my dears, you must have a
wedding. Yes, in order to preserve the
prestige of the old name, if nothing
more, wo really must hero a wedding,
uni marry jou over Again/'
And she did; and it waa a most mag*
nificent affair. The old hall was in
% blaze of light, and crowded with noble
guests, and I wore poiut lace and the old
Delator diamonds.
Bot I was not half so happy as on the
day when I first heard from my hus¬
band’s lips that he loved me—-beard it
that day in his boat.
A Stale Printer.
Assemblyman McCann’s bill to provide
for the establishment of a State printing
office at Albany, N. Y., was discussed be¬
fore the Assembly Committee on Print¬
ing. Mr. Amos J. Cummings and ex
President John O’Donnell, of Typo¬
graphical Union No. 6, came from New
York to represent that organization.
Mr. O’Donnell reviewed the history of
the national printing, calling especial
attention to the corruption in the print¬
ing system at the time that Wendell,
the Public Printer, , was proved to have
sent $100,000 to P ennsylvania to help
elect Buchanan. After that the present
Bureau of Printing was established. He
said that by the reports of the State
Printer of California, he is saving, as
compared with the contract system of
ten years ago, when there was less
work, between $30,000 and $40,000. He
argued that by the present system in
Albany the printing is far too expensive,
is not good workmanship, is executed in
a manner unjust to the best workmen
of the State, and is bad in many im¬
portant respects. Mr. Cummings said
the proposed State printing office is de¬
manded by the workingmen of the
State, who form a majority of the voters.
The State Workingmen’s Assembly is
behind this bill. The present printers
will not employ a member of a trades
union. Because he is a member he is
shut out from employment, no matter
how good a workman he may be. Mr.
W. G. Johnson, of the Albany Typo¬
graphical Union, also spoke for the bill.
m •*Up S a Ballooi
The balloon corps employed by Gen.
Graham to reconnoitre Osman Digma’s
movements represents a force which
may hereafter become formidably effec¬
tive in modern warfare, although the
date of its first utilization in this way
comes almost within the memory of
some men still living. The earliest ap¬
pearance of balloons in war was daring
the siege of a fortress in Northern France
by the Austro-Prussian invaders of 1794,
when an adventurous aeronaut thor¬
oughly surveyed the Austrian line
in the teeth of a heavy but wholly inef¬
fectual fire directed against him by the
enraged enemy. The balloon commu¬
nications kept with the outside world by
Paris during the German blockade of
1870 is still fresh in public memory.
Poor Col. Burnaby, one of the boldest
aeronauts of his time, had daring theo¬
ries about the possible use of balloons
in war which his own feate amply justi
fiefl. The project of freighting a bal¬
loon with small bombs, and dropping
•hem into the enemy’s ranks, has beer
repeatedly mooted, but not yet tested
by actual experiment.
This mother of a family consisting of
the parents and two grown-up daugh¬
ters, living in Goffstown, recently died,
and when the undertaker came to per¬
form his duties the father was asked the
name of his wife. His reply was,
“Mother.” No other name could he re¬
member, and the daughters were equally
ignorant, having never known their
parent by any other name than “Moth¬
er,” and a right good name, too.
A Firrsncno girl had her bangs blown
off in an explosion, and the company
settled with her for $25. Bangs must
be high down ihat way. Up here you
ian get a whole rink full of bangs for
two shillings, and the music thrown in.
--Ban&viUe (N. Y.) Breeze.