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the mercury.
PUBLISHED ETEEY TUESDAY
NOTICE.
Al l communications Intended for thli
pnper ronBt be acoorapanlod with the full
nmneof the writer, not neceiwnrlly for pnbll.
cation, but us » guarantee of good faith.
We are In no way roaponalble for the ylewe
eroplnlone of correepoudeuta.
c. C BROWN,
ATTORNEY at law.
Banderevllle, Qa. .*
will practice In the State and United Btatee
Court*. Offloe In Courthouse.
Watches, Clocks
And JEWELRY
REPAIRED BT
JE HIT I GAIT.
' H. N HOLLIFIELD,
Physician and §urgeon,
Banderevllle, On.
Office neit door to Mm Bayne’s millinery
•tore on liarrle street.
“oIThTWhitaker,
OEN TI ST,
Banderevllle, On
fJJK.WY CASH.
office nt bla Residence, on Harris street.
Aonl 3.1. WHO.
B. D. EVANS,
ATTORNEY AT LAW.
Banderevllle, On.
April 1,18S0.
Dr. H. B. Hollifield,
PHTSICIAl &ND SURGEON,
Having recently graduated at the Unlvcr-
•lly of Maryland and returned home, now
iilfcrs Ills prolesaloual aervlct* to the cltlr.Hiis
nl Hitmleisvllle and vicinity. Office with
Ur. II. N Hollinekd,ueal door to|Mre. Bayne’s
unllluory atore.
JO U YYOll B
mmiis, mnm,
FROM
JERNIGAN,
| None genuine without our Trade Mark.
On liaml and for sale,
18PK(/TiU7,liN, NQSR GLASSES, ETC.
K. Hikes. O. H. Rod Bile
HINES & ROGERS,
|Attomeys at Law,
8 ANDERS VILLE, GA.,
I Will practice In the eountlca of Washington,
IJe(Toih,>ii, J<.111 ■ soi■, Knianiiel and Wilkinson,
land In the U. H. Court* for the Southern 1>I»-
ltrlclof Ueurgla.
I Will act iih agent* In buying, *elllng oi
Irentlng Real Katate.
I office ou West aide of Public Square.
|Ocl tl tr
:usic,
ERNIGAN
Bows, Strings,
losin Boxes, Etc-
lachine Needles,
Oil and Shuttles,
For AM, KINDS OF MACH I NFS, for aale.
A will aiKo order parts of Mnoliine*
tuat get broken, for wliteti new
pieces art wanted.
j. JEHNIGAN
THE MERCURY.
A. J. JERNIGAN, Pboi’kiktor.
Volume IV.
DEVOTED TO LITERATURE, AGRICULTURE AND GENERAL INTELLIGENCE.
SAN DISKS VILLE, GA., TUESDAY, AUGUST 14, 1883.
11.60 PER ANNUM.
Number 19.
Like Hie Dad.
hoar Ills mother’s chiding voice,
"How came your trousers torn?
And blaok as Ink, sir, Is your shirt
You put on clean this morn.
"Your feet are wet, too, I declare;
You’re muddy to your knees ;
Is too hail; you only care
Your mother, sir, to tease.
"And those nice shoes, your Hominy hast,
That but three times you’ve worn,
Are sc rate lied aud scraped ami all ruu
down.
The heel of one is gone.
"Your hair U twisted lu a snarl,
Anil Jusl look at that hand I 1
It 1< oks us though 'Iworo never washed—
How dare you say 'lls tunned ?
"You've been a Ashing, sir, I guess—
W hut I been to see t lie match ?
You'll have a 111 of sickness, sir ;
A pretty cold you’ll catch.”.
And lliea she talks for half an hour
And only slops to sry,
"Your fhlher'll hoar of this to-night
What do you think lie'll say?"
My friends In complimentary wayj
Declare to me they see
A close resemblance—very marked—
Uetwuen the boy aiul me.
Hut nothing that they soe lu him
ill either form or face
Uespoaks my son as do his pranks—
fu these my own 1 truce.
Aud why should 1 nl tattered chillies
Or Utl’ly ones repine ?
lu him ! live my youth agiitu—
Uod Idcss the boy I he's mine I
LITTLE MISS TURPIN'S FATE.
The Fashions.
AH shades of gray.are popular.
Shot silks and satins will be worn : n the
fell.
Waistcoats for ladies are revived and
" orn under cutaway jackets.
Skirts trimmed wilh lace, put on in lialf-
noon 8 hupe8, are v ery fashionable,
1 launelfoT traveling or for the seaside
| a Ppears more frequently in navy blue and
■PtHy than any other color, and is alwayB
|uisde up with close sleeves and close fitting
| J erBey bodice.
I A new neck arrangement is a plaiting of
I We sewn down one side of a narrow band
jfeac ling Irom th e throat to waist, with a
J uicession of loops of satin ribbon down
"'other, forming a beading..
I flie fashionable shade of pink for even-
| lD K wear is topaz.
lionnoia 0 f 8traw f r i e nr o the present
| Uov «Hy in millinery.
I 0vp la ^ ed blouse, waists and long apron
[ e f8kirts remain in favor.
* ' atest * ln Portation8 of Paris dresses
ar K® tournutes and hip draperios.
n '“ 8 'd e waist of the same shade should
always be
worn under ever/. Jersey.
A little conversation look place, one day,
on fhe top floor of a dingy old lodging
house in the metropolis, that led to strange
results. It was in the front room, but made
it* way viry readily through the chinks and
cranuies in the morlar to the neighboring
apartment, where little Miss Turpin was
preparing her frugal breakfast. The toast*
ing fork almost fell from her hand, and her
dimity apron narrowly escaped being se
duced by the sumptuous flame from the
grate, when Jhe harsh g utf voice of her
landlord fell upon her ear.
"1 want my money," said Mr. Shadrack,
"So do I,” replied the young doctor, "and
more. 'lie that wants money, means and
content, is without three good friends.' ”
"Can I have my money tonight?"
"1 think not."
'To-morrow ?'
"It is extremely doubtful."
"Then you must get out of here. 1 want
my room."
"When do you want it - ?"
"As soon nB possible.”
"Will to morrow do ?"
"Yes."
“Then leave, friend; the room shall be
yours tovmorrow morning."
The young medical student was a man of
spirit, and would have vacated these not
very alluring premises at once, hut he had
nowhere to lay his head, and there seemed
a vital necessity just then for some such
proceeding ou bis part. He had discovered
two days before that the faltering and shab
by source of his pecuniary supplies had ut
lerly failed, and (lie knowledge that he was
without money aud ftiendsin a strange city
together with an inability to beg, borrow or
steal, had robbed him of Bleep. The Iobs of
this necessary rest to a tired brain and worn
out body, rendered him tne prey of many
different seusatious during Mr. Shadrack’s
visit. An iron band seemed to compass bis
forehead, bis eyeballs burned, his hands
shook, bis kueeB seemed at times about to
collapse beneath him, as he walked to and
fio the length of the dreary apartment, for
lack of nourishing food chewing the cud of
many a bitter fancy, He asked himself
over and over agaiu if this was to be the end
of it all, and why he had been such a fool
as to fancy he could pursue the study of
medicine with the wretched capital of a
worn out body, a distracted mind and barely
enough money to keep flesh on his bones.
That an indomitable spirit bad prompted
him to go on, hoping for a little desultory
practice by the way; that ther r se color
with which youth and inexperience are apt
to tint those fallacious dreams had been too
vivid in bis case,—that these and many
other excuses could be made for his folly
availed little just now. A systematic course
ofBemi-Htarvation and over work had broken
his indomitable spirit, and turned the rose
colored dreams to exceedingly greenish
hued nightmare.
The only patient he had during his nine
months’ stay with Mr. Shadrack was a poor
little work woman in the neighboring room
u washed out, timid, wretched little creature,
with scarcely enough stamina about her to
rally after a slight touch of pneumonia,
Her little fee had been ready for him after
every visit—in fact, obtrusively ready, for
it was out of the question, of course, to take
money.
“It waB merely a neighborly service," he
said, when, upon his fif'h visit he found her
up and at work again, and on his departure,
she had stammered out something about
bis bill. "I am only too glad, Miss-
Miss—"
"Turpin,'' she whispered.
To be of service to you, and beg you
will call mo in whenever my presence is
desirable,”
Miss Turpin faltered out her thanks,
burning blush chased the pallor out of her
face, as he warmly pressed her trembling
hand in his and bade her good bye.
"Poor little devil I” he said, as he strode
away to the lecture room. "It’s bad
enough for a strong ox like myself to face
and oaltle with this grim old grindstone of
a world, but for a miserable waif like that
—phew, it's monstrous."
He thought of her pityingly till he crossed
the threshold of the college, then gave him
self up to the subject in hand, which so
engrossed his mind, that he forthwith forgot
the existence of little Miss Turpin. Bui
she, upon her part, repeated over and over
the words of young l)r. Blake, blushing
again when she became conscious of the
fact that she really had the temerity to
dwell upon his genial but commonplace
courtesy.
Miss Turpin's work was delicate and are
tistic, but not soul absorbing like the doc
tor's. She could tint her photographs all
fhe better for this little episode in her life.
The vines aud tendrils took tender shapes
under her deft little fingers ; a shy, sweet
melancholy helped to make the shadows at
least more and more perfect; under the rose
buds grew (he thorns ; but thero seemed to
lurk even in their cruelty a subtle, myste*
.'ious charm. It was enough for Miss Tur
pin to dream. The physical and practical
reality of the doctor's nearness, had its
weight, but not consciously so, to the little
woman. She never ventured to get up a
cough or cramp for the sake of stamping
more ch arly his shape into these vague but
extravagaut feats of fancy. In truth, bo
timid and afraid was she of a pulsation of
practical joy, that she actually shunned and
shrank from its approach.
But more and more imposing, grander and
grander grew this one figure of her fancy
around which revolved the satellities of
health and wealth, popularity and fame-
all that could render life sweet or , dusira
ble.
Perhaps it is detrimental to my heroine
to say that she would have been quite cou.-
tent to have lived upon the fruits of her own
fAncy for the remainder of her natural life.
Had circumstances compelled her to change
her abode, and had she thus lost sight of Dr.
Blake, the dreams would have gone along
juBt the same, the fact of bia dying in a
neighboring hospitul of weakness and want,
and the quenching of all her material in a
pauper's greve not interfering in the least
with Miss Turpin's airy fabric. It would
have heen impossible to convince Miss Tur
pin that h^jould reach so dire an extremity,
' ad not the knowledge been forced in upon
her in a way that she could not possibly re
fuse.
She absolutely heard the gruff voice of
Mr. Shadrach upon the morning in question
and the low, tnusica 1 , but bitterly mocking
words of the doctor iu reply.
She sat down upon the rqg, and clasped
both her hands, lie was going away then?
Until that moment she'had not realized the
extent of such a disaster. She could have
borne, perhaps lo have been compelled to
go away herself, bec&nse the inevitable for
her hud become, long since, a matter of
course; but to have the iron hand of inexor
able necessity grasp this magnificent young
man was terrible. He had the flashing eyes,
the lordly mein, tie exultant step—for thus
had iittle Miss Turpin been wont to classify
the somewhat, alluring personal attractions
of young Blake—he hud become the prey
of an adverse destiny I
Miss Turpin’s breakfast that morning was
failure. By dint of loug practice and an
exceedingly gracious gift of housewifery she
had always managed to get up extraordin-
ary little meals for herself. It was as if u
little, sooty angel sut up aloft in the chim
ney aud assisted the culinary efforts of the
lone little womuti. Her toast was of brown
the most golden, her coffee was of Mocha
the most delicious, her bit of steak so juicy
and appetiz'ng, that sometimes poor Blake,
in the neihboring room, with Borne chunks
of brown bread floating helplessly iu a
chalky fluid before him, fiuding this savory
odor under his nostrils, raised his clenched
bands at the stern wall between them iu
euvy and despair.
But even the litttle angel in the chimney
became impatient with the behavior of lit
tle Miss Turpin that morning. The iittle
woman, usually so practical and capable,
while straining her car to listen to laulter-
ing, stumbling steps in the next room, de
liberately burned the toast and boiled the
coffee, and the sooty wings spread them
selves, taking flight in disappointment and
disgust,
She held her breath as the familiar foot*
Btep passed her door, and slowly one by one
went down the worm-eaten stairs. Ob,
where was he going? What would he do ?
She had read sometimes of an evening,
when working hours were over, the shaded
lamp upon the table at her side, the coals
leaping and blazing in the refulgent grate,
her little slippered feet upon the fender—
she had read of people who, having neither
money, means nor content, had drifted into
a moment of frenzy and despair, and thus
leaped the awful bar that separates the
known from the unknown, content to risk
auy fate which awaited them there. She
had read thus of poor, strange unfoitunates,
and her heart had ached in their behalf.
But now ? Well, now her heart almost
ceased to heat. She put away her work—
of what a/ail was it, all blotted and blurred
by her tears or ruined by her shaking brush?
All day she feared and trembled; at night
fall some intuitive tope caused her to
brighten the fire, cook a dainty meal, and
placing the table opposite the door, leave
the tempting, cozy room open on the wind
swept, gloomy corridor.
Then she waited and waited. The clock
struck at midnight; then one, two, three,
from a neighboring belfry. The meal was
cold, the fire burned low; the chill, gray
morning had almost dawned, when at last
it came; yes—thank God I faltering and
slow; hut it was his footstep; none other
could quicken little Miss Turpin’s pulse
• He reached the landing, the door ce
room. Why, truly, he did pause—yes, and
stagger in-
Any other woman, but this, perhaps,
would havo recoiled with disgust and hor
ror, and, above all, with fear, for the young
man was evidently not himself. His hair,
damp and dishevelled, hung in heavy dis
order about his face and neck; his eyes,
glassy and lucid, blazed upon hers ; a red
flame burned in his cheeks; a slight foam
flecked his tromoling lips.
He fell into the chair at the table, and
looked wondcringly upon the food before
him ; hut that which would have been fran
tically devoured six hours before, was like
the ashes of bitterness lo him now. He had
not tasted food for thirty six hours. But it.
was not hunger that tortured him ; it was
thirst—an appalling thirst.
He drank the pitcher of sparkling water
from little Miss Turpin's hand, and looked
pleadingly for more.
“Do not be afraid lo give the patient wa
ter," ho murmured eagerly. “In cates of
febrile debility they sometimes Buffor—- suf
fer. I recommend, by all means, water-
water—water." Then he fell hack with a
groan ol agony.
Miss Turpin ran out ol the room and
down the stairs; pounded on the door of the
German tailor below, who, with his wife and
five children, was enjoying in sleep the only
immunity granted them from endless labor
and toil; bade him. fly for the best doctor in
the neighborhood ; ran up stairs again like
a deer, and found Dr. Blake insensible, bis
head thrown back upon the chair, his eyes
half closed, his stentorian breathings audi
ble in the corridor below,
The little tailor returned with the
very best medical aid iu the vicinity, even
thnt ot the eminent Dr. Havershaw himself
All this fuss and confusion had aroused
Mr. Shudrack, who followed them up the
stairs and protruded his very long and hairy
chin in at the doorway.
“It is, perhaps, hi st that you should
know, madam," said the Burgeon to Miss
Turpin, “that this is a doubtful case. Your
husband is in a very critical condition. 1
this wrfrthy man will assist me we will ge
him to bed Our only hope will be a pow-
enul sedative, to ho given at once."
The worthy man alluded to was Mr. Shad-
rack, whoso eyes almost left their sockets
when he found the doctor preparing to put
his young lodger into Miss Turpin's bed.
"Why— why," he gasped, looking at Miss
Turpin, "this won't do, will it ?"
Miss Turpin bowed her head. She could
not speak, but it seemed to her thnt her
heart made all the noise that was necessary.
Its convultivo throbs moved the shawl that
she had thrown over her shoulders.
"Don’t chatter here," i aid tho doctor,
thinking Mr. Shadrach was addressing him.
"J ust do whut 1 bid you, and the more qui
etly, the better. Now theu, lend a hand."
Half an hour later. Miss Turpin wus
atom again, save for the body of the doctor
that lay upon the bed. He was helpless
there, perhaps dying, his face was strange
and distorted, his eyes half closed. A con
fused, unintelligent murmur tlowed from
his lips, his bands clenched and unclenched;
at times a groan seemed wrung from his
vitals.
Miss Turpin's features were pale and
haggared, her eyes streaming with tears.
Yet, iu the midst of an anguish that par
took of despair, with throes of pain and
terror unspeakable, there wus born to her a
solemn and almost sinister joy, the first ever
given to that sterile soul.
When the doctor came in the evening he
thought he had never seen so patient and
noble a face ; there whs something in it that
went to his noble heart.
"Bo comforted," ho said, "let us rely on
the youth aud strong physique of your
husband,"
The incoherent muttering of his patient
attracted the doctor’s attention. Sharp and
strong sentences fell upon his ear, that ex-
eit d his professional curiosity. When he
heard from Mise Turpin of the enthusiasm
and zeal of the young student, as much as
she dared tell him of his defeated apirations
and hopes, the good doctor's dark eyes kin
dled with sympathy.
"Let him only get well," he said, “and
we will sweep these lions out of his path."
Miss Turpin smiled through her tears.
"He will get well, thanks to you,” she
said.
“And to you," he added, looking around
the room with approbation. It had been
suddenly metamorphosed into the model of
a chamber for the sick. The open fire,
with its cheerful blaze and ventilating
draught; the subdued light; the white and
warm drapery of the bed; her own little
couch near by; pretty, shadowy pictures
upon the walls tinted by her own haudB—
an eloquent silence reigning over all.
"It is lucky for yonder lad," thought the
doctor, "that in all this big, wretched bar'
rack the one little snuggery is his own."
And so the days went by, each one
freighted with hope and fear. There came
one at last upon which rested the life or
the death of the young medical student.
"Some time this evening," said the doc-
tor to Miss Turpin, "he will regain con'
sciousness; he sure that you do not leave
his bedside. I would not for the world, at
that critical moment, that a strange face
should meet his own.”
Miss Turpin turned pale, and then
streached out her hands with a gesture of
entreaty. Theu she slipped from her chair
to her knees and from hence to the floor.
Now had come the supreme moment of tor
ture. Now her labor, her joy, her life itself,
was done.
A strange face! What face could be
stranger than her own ?
“Tut, child,” said the doctor; "I thought
you had more courage. There is every
hope for him. Can't you bear joy as you
, ,1
have sorrow? I only want that he shall
see the face of hie wife, the dearest to him
in the world,”
Ho put down his hands to her, but still
she hid hor face from his. Her whole frame
trembled. She wished at that moment, so
unhappy seemed her fate, that she could
die there and then.
"Oh, doctor," Baid she, lifting her eyes to
his, "how can I toll you?how oan 1 make
you know? I am not his wife?"
The doctor drew back coldly; but as her
farnk earliest eyas causht his own, he
could not the, innocent pleading there. She
might be a pocr Magdalen even, but he had
never seen bo childlike and yet womanly a
creature.
"We raucst think of nothing now but onr
patient," he laid, gently; "your face is at
least familiar and deer to him.”
"Alas I no," she said; " it is strange, al-
mc it unknown. It is far better I should go
av ay."
Then she told the doctor all. And as she
went on to confess how she htd dared to
shelter this poor neighbor of here, without
a roof to cover him, without money, with
out friends; sick unto death, helplees and
aloue—how she had dared at any risk to
shelter him and to nurse him back to life—
the good surgeon's eyes blinked under hit
shaggy brows. He put his heavy hand in
benediction upon her bowed heed.
"Thou good little Samaritan I" he said.
Aud two big, hollow, handsome eyes
upon tho white bed in the corner also filled
with tears. He was so weak, this poor
young Blake, that he could scarcely help
sobbing outright at so touching a storv.
"Why—why," he faltered to himself, "in
little Miss Turpin's room ! O thou merci
ful Heaven I in little Miss Turpin's bed!
With the cheery little fire in tbe grate to
foil yonder biting blast, with all the little
knick-knacks and furbelows about—the lit
tle pictures on the wall, her bird-cage at the
window, a neat little mediciue stand, with
lots i f spoons in various does, each spoon
with little Miss Turpi u’s name; aud to her
then under heaven, 1 owe my life I Ah,
may God do to me, and more, aleo, if I de
sert little Miss Turpin, or let little bliss
Turpin desert mol"
"Aud now,” said the sweet, sad voice of
Miss Turpin, "take me to his bedside. 1
am foolishlp weak, I can scarcely see. Let
me look upon him just ouce more before I
go. You will take care of higa now, dootor,
won't you ? But let me say goodbye."
The doctor, undecidely, scarcely know*
inw what lo say or do, half carried her to
his Hied.
"Good-bye, good-bye," she said, bending
over him, her warm tears falling on his pale,
Hunken face, her hot, trembling haudB
clasping themselves together.
But suddenly two other hot, trembling
hands seize hers io a feeble grasp—the hol
low, sunken eyes of the student fasten them
selves upon Miss Turpin's face with a very
hungry tenderness.
"Oh, no," he said, "you canuot go from
here, not for the world; you see the good
doctor has Baid it wiil uot do to have a
strange face at my bedside. Yours is the
dearest to me in tho world. I love you,
Miss Turpin. It perhaps a sad fate 1 offer
you; but, oh I be still more generous—be my
wife. I have loved you to long I"
He didn’t Bay how long; he was too weak
to talk, He diu't tell her that perhaps his
loved dated only a little half-hour back,
when he listened to that wunderously touch-
ng sioty of hers.
What mattered it ? Cannot love be as
strong as life and deep as the sea, however
and whenever it is born ? Good Dr. Haver
bI'uw took care of their future. It began
in a mat, two-story brick house, with a big
brass sign upon the door, to which the
worthy surgeon drew his attention enough
to set the hot to boiling.
Aud now iu her stylish brougham, with a
liveried lackey at her command, with her
rustling silks and dainty laces, with her
wildcat fancies more than realized, who
could find fault with the fate of little Miss
Turpin ?
A Michigan Debtor’! Sharp Practice.
A certain Michigander who had longsuc-
ceaded in dodging a certain creditor, was a
few weeks ago cornered iu the office of a
mutual frieud, and the creditor said,—
Sir I you have owed me twenty-five dol
lars for a year past, and now I want to know
whut you are going to do about it ?"
"Well, I'll think it over."
"There wiil be no thinking it over, my
friend. And if you don't pay me, I’ll sue
you."
"You will ?"
"J will, sir I"
"Then you'll be certain to get a judgment.
The party which bring the suit always gets
the verdict before a justice. Knowing this,
you will take advantage of me ?" •
“I will.”
"Very well. Now, then, I deny that 1
owe you a dollar."
“You do?”
"1 do, sir, but in case you want to borrow
twenty-five dollars of me for a week, hero
it is."
"I don't care whether you call it paying
or leuding. so loug as 1 get the money," rei
plied the creditor, and ho made out a receipt
in full aud took the money. '
At the end of the week he was asked to
return the loan, but laughed at the abiurdity
of the request. Suit was begun to recover
it. the mutual friend used as a witness, and
the plaintiff received judgment in his favor,
and had a clean receipt to show for the
debt.
r,*
the mercury.
Entered aa eeeond-etaw matt* at Dm aw
darevUlc Postoffloe, April tl, Ilia
Haadersvllle, ’Vsahlngton Caaaty, Qa.
rmuBis by
Al. J. JERISTIGkA.N,
PBOFBIBTOB AMD PtJBUSHBB.
Subscription,
...11.10 pwfNr
A Real Nice Qlrl.
I saw a girl eome into a street car the
other day, though, who had, I was ready lo
bet, made her own dress and how nice she
did look. She was one of those clean, trim
girls you see now aud then. Sho was about
18 years of age, and to begin with, looked
well-fed, healthy and strong. She looked
as thongli she had a good sensible mother
at home. Her face and neck and ears and
her hair.were clean—absolutely clean. How
seldom you see that. Thero was no pow
der, no paint on the smooth, rounded cheek
or firm, dimpled chin ; none on the moist
red lips; none on the shell-tinted, but not
too small ears; nono on the handsomely set
neck—rather broad behind, perhaps, but
but running mighty prettily up into the
tightly corded hair, Aud.tbe hair! It was
of a light chestnut brown and glistened with
specks of gold as the Bun shone on it, and
there was not a smear of oil cr pomatum or
coemetic on it; there was not a spear astray
about it, and not a pin to be seen in it. As
the girl came 1b Bod took her seat, she cast
an easy, unembarrassed glance around the
car, from a Well opened gray eye, bright
with the intimitable light of "good condi
tion, " such as you see in some handsome
young athletes who are "in training." There
were no tegs aud ends, fringes, furbelows
or fluttering ribbons about her closely fit-*
ting but easy suit of tweed, and, as she
drew off one glove to took in her purse for
a small coin for fare, I noticed that the
gloves were not new, but neither were they
old; they were simply well kept, like the
owner and their owner's hand, which was a
solid baud, with plenty of muscles between
the tendons and with strong but supple fin
gers, It would have looked equally pretty
fashioning a pie in a home kitchen or fold
ing a bandage in a hospitable. It was a
hand that suggested at the same time
womanliless and work, and I was sorry when
it found a five cent piece and had been re
gloved. One foot was thrust out a little up
on the slate of the car floor—a foot in a
good walking boot that might have plashed
through a rain storm without fear of damp
Btockiugs—and an eminently eensible boot
on a two and one-half foot with a high in
step, a small round heel, and a pretty broad
tread, The girl was a picture from head to
foot as she sat erect, disdaining the support
of the back of the seat, but devoid of all ap
pearance of stiffness. Perhaps the whole
outfit to be S63Q, from hnt to boots, did not
cost $40; but I have seen plenty of outfits
costing more than ten times or even twenty
times that, which did not look one-tenth or
even one-twentieth as well. If our girls
only knew the beauty of more simplicity
cleanliness and health, and their fascinatioul
—Washington Capital.
■oaart.
A slovenly, commonplace wife, low, dis
orderly connections, and reckless habits,
reduced him to a system of constant over
work and ronstant borrowing. One child
after another was born and died, his wife
was continually ill, symphonies had to be
sold before they were written, usurers had
to be resorted to, till the catastrophe came,
which the father, the unwitting hut original
cause, was mercifully spared from witness'-
irg. Mozart, whom the poor, anxious
chapel master of Salzburg had hoped to see
"at the head of a comfortable Christian
Household"—feverishly unxicuB to get eight
pupils—writing a masterpiece, tbe "Zauber
fiote,” for a suburban theatre of planks,
owned by a harlequin—begins, according to
his own expression, to have the taBte ot
death on his tongue, dies miserably and
painfully, leaving ouly six florins to pay
hia debts, and is hurriedly buried in the
cheapest manner in the common ditch of
the public cemetery, without even a cross
to distinguish his resting place from that of
the beggars around him. Mozait believed
he was being poisoned, as Pergolesi had
believed himself to be when he, too, died in
obscurity and want; but what need could
any of his enemies have had to poison him?
He could never have struggled out of the
wreck of bis fortune, of nis career, and ot
his health. Tbe story is a miserable
and, being that of the composer of "Don
Giovanni" and tbe "Zauberflote,” contains
a deep, tragic interest for us; yet it is iu
reality the story of hundreds of other mu
sicians of small or no gifts; and the only
really strange circumstance is that this
commonplace tale of failure should be that
of a man of genius like Mozart. This an
omaly we have partially explained by
showing how his father arranged matters as
if he had positively been ,planning an ob
scure aud unsuccessful career for his son ;
the other half of the explanation must be
sought for in Mozart's own character, which
compared with his genius, was almost as
commonplace as was his life, and which
might, like it, have been that of a very me
diocre artist.
ALL SORTS.
Paw Paw must be quite a hand-some
town.—N. Y. News.
A master of free hand drawing-
pocket.—Boston Star.
piok
A bad coughin' spell—C-a s-k e-t —Balti
more Every Saturday.
"Silence is golden." Soil a pawnbroker's
sign.—N. Y. Journal.
Takes things easy—the man who isn't
watched.—N. Y. News. v
The locomotive fireman makes his living
by draw poker.—N. Y. Journal v
More people die of excessive eat than
excessive heat.—Boston Transcript.
Tho mule is apt to be behind in his busi
ness.—Boston Commercial Bulletin.
The dunning letter is occasionally a most
pay-thetic appeal.—N. Y. News.
Our fellow citizen who lost his nap will
now be found in a threadbare coat.—N. Y.
News,
Look before you leap,” said the man
who brushed a bent pin off the chair.—N.
, Journal.
The man who makes a motion to adjourn
not necessarily • adjournalist.— Illinois
State Register.
Blobsou calls accompaniments "bald
headed music"—because they haven't got
any air.—Burlington Free Pres*,
Seeing a carriage full of belief and beaux
driven by, Aminadab remarked tjiat they
reminded him of a load of wooed.—
‘Did the child die under suspicious cir
cumstances?" asked the coroner of a wit
ness. "No, sir, it did not. It died under
the back porch."—Pittsburgh Telegraph.
"I have a bright prospect before me,"
said the loafer. “You always will have,"
remarked Fogg, "I don’t thinkyou will ever
catch up to it."— Boston Transcript.
"Why don’t that engine start ?" "On ac
count ol a defunct dog.' "How can a dog
stop it ?" "I don’t know, only the engineer
Baid it was on a dead sceuter."—»Chicago
Cheek.
“The difference," said Twiatem, as he
thumped his glass on the bur, "between this
glass and a locust, is simply that one’s a
beer mug and the other's a mere bug."—
Pittsburgh Telegraph.
Mrs. Homespun, who has a terrible time
every morning to get her young brood out
of their beds, says she canuot' Understand
why children are called the rising genera
tion.--Boston Transcript.
An enthusiastic exchange remarks: "The
hills aud valleys are carpeted with the ver
dant growing crops." A neat idea. The
carpet, strictly speaking, is of the in’grain
variety,—Pittsburgh Telegraph.
The quantity of beer pioduced in the
Uuited States last year averaged more than
fourteen gallons for every inhabitant of the
country. Somebody has played a wretched
mean trick on us theu.—Burlington Free
Press.
A cucumber five feet loug is exhibited at
New Orleans. It isn't size that counts in a
cucumber, however. A little, stubby fellow,
three by two niches, has proven enough to
expaud an ordinary sized stomach to an
achre.—Pittsburgh Telegraph.
A Tramp Laya Dowu Law.
A frowsy tramp, who bad got out of New
York by way of the bridge, called at a
farmer's house, near East New York, to get
something to eat, was told to chop up some
kiudliug wood in the yard. He.workedjjfor
half an hour, aud theu was fed. After he
had finished, he said to the farmer.—
“Now, give me a quarter for chopping
wood, and we’ll be square.”
"But I-gave you your dinner, man,” said
the farm r.
"I don't work for my viotuals. I work
for hard cash when I work, and the victuals,
you see, is a bonus."
“Well, I won’t pay you."
“All right, boss; then I'll sue you. I
know the law. Work means money, not
victuals. I can afford to wait. I've got
lots of time; but I’ll hare you before the
courts, sure, if you don't agree to fork
over."
The farmer at length paid the quarter,
but he angrily protested that he would
never give another tramp a meal.
“All right, boss," said the tramp, hiding
the coin in his rags; “but, if you do, don’t
ask your guest to pjrforin manual labor,”
The smallest thing-
you do m*k«.
-The fortune whioh
Prof. Proctor reasons that the moon has
grown old six times as fast as the earth, u
comparison of the masses and radiaiing
surfaces of tbe two bodies making it evident
that the earth's internal heat was originally
sufficient to last six times as long as the
moon's supply. On the very moderate as
sumption, therefore, that only twelve mil
lions of years have passed since the earth
aud the moon were at the same stage of
planetary life, this astronomer shows ns
that sixty millions of years must elapse be
fore the earth will have reached the stage
through which the moon is now passing.
From reports made by C. V. Riley, ento
otologist of the Department of Agriculture,
it appears that kerosene oil is a valuable
agent for the destruction of all insects aud
huge inimical to vegetable life.
I dreamed last nightof being in a large
city where the streets were paved with dry
toast and that the buildings were roofed
with toast and ih6 soil was bran and oat
meal, and the water was beef tea and gruel.
All at once it came over mo that I had solv
ed the great mystery of death and had been
consigned to a place of eternal punishment
The thought was horrible I A million eter
nities in a city built of dry toast and oat
meal I A home for never ending cyolea of
ages, where the principal hotel and the post-
office building and the opera house were all
built of toast, and the fire department squirt*
ed gruel at tbe devouring element forever I
It was only a dream, .bat it haa made
me more thoughtful, and people notice
that I am not so giddy as I was.—Bill
Nye iu Free Press.
A little singular that passengers are not
permitted to converse with the man at the
wheel, notwithstanding he is spokesman 9f
the ship.—Boston Transcript,
m