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VOLUME IV
SANDERSVILLE, GA., TUESDAY, OCTOBER 2, 18S3.
NUMBER 26.
LOST S'A MLS.
They lived, and they worousofnljtliiB we know
And naught besides;
No record of their names is loft to show
How soontlioydiod;
Tlioy did tlioir work and then they passed away
An unknown band,
And took tlioir places with tlie greater host
In tho higher land.
And woro they young, or were they growing old,
Or ill, or well,
Or lived in poverty, or had much gold,
No one can toll;
One only thing Is known of them, tlioy wore
Faithful and tuc
Disciples of the Lord, ahd strong through prayer
To save and do.
But what avails tho gift of ompty fame 1
They lived to God.
They loved tho sweetness of another name,
And gludly trod
Tho nigged ways of oai;th, that they might be
Helper, or friend,
And In tho joy of this their ministry
Bo spout and spend.
No glory olnsters round tholrnamos ou parth;
But In fluid's Henvon
Is kept a book of names of greatost worth,
And there Is given
A plaoo for all who did the Maator please,
Although unknown,
And thore lost names shine forth In brighten!
ray,
Beforo tho throne.
Oh, tako who will tho boon of fading fame!
But givo to mo
A placo among tho workers, though my name
Forgotten bo
And if within tho book of life is found
My lowly piaoe,
Honor and glory unto God redound
For all His grace.
^ Charley’s postal.
oharley Smallfnco hns been sent into
* le country for a vnatfion.by liis foml
parents, who are having an elegant time
“t u f:\Kliiunablo resort. TTe doesn't like
Ro Urns postal cards to liis aunt:
I don't like tho country. They eat
ineukfast awful early, and Bond me oil
"o nnles to drive the cows. I hate a
so early jp tlie morning. My hack
is most hroko oil' weeding onions. There
* Leon an ice cream wagon by this
'"use since I'telieeu hero. Everybody
Reua to bed early s i's to save.candles,
le frogs holler awful in the night. 1)
“ly would only put, (he luosquitocw in
* barn it wool 1 !>,» nicer. Semi ni> my
mnn ’a!' ^ wa " t to ‘l ,0 K’ at tll ° «' ,li
,|.; ', Rural sweets is what dad calls
place, I call it ‘country sour.' ”
^ kl dy.—Pick over green
aiid ,„ )e y neK ’ romove tho tops and stems
n ... “ 8 l . llncl drain them; put them into
;|| rV1 "8, ket,le with half a pint of
tC„ oeach . pound of fruit, and let
null,. ^\uumner until cooked to a
and ui i! n them into a jolly-bng
leavo n,i' lvju ! ce dnp through tho bag;
”'l V niSit e00 - bcl ' rie8
fho
»U night -,u ; — jelly-bng
iuiop. «iL * 10 ncx t day measure the
of juice put 11 ,? 0 ’' 1111 ° f 8Ugnr t0 a pint
preservt’,,, 1 U , , , 1 11100 nnd sugar into a
sugar iu I. stir them until the
Ueauwhile 8 who^’ 11>W *.V heating them
1 ioil thp : when tlie sugar is dissolved
rises until y ’ ! U01ov iug all scum as it
«aucev iu a llt '° °t it, cooled on n
HARRY’S MAIIIKN AUNT.
"It’s too had, really 1” cried Mr.
Flavry Sturgoss, walking up and down
the room in an exuberance of indignu
tion and sympathy. “ I wouldn’t have
believed it of your uncle—to turn yon
out of the oflico and cast you, penniless,
upon a cold and heartless world, all on
account of an ‘ innocent frolic 1 ’ ”
" It was tho third time,” gloomily
answered the handsome young man, who
sat nt tho window, absently drumming
at the sill— 11 and lie lmd warned me,
you kn w. I’vo nobody to blarno hut
myself."
• 1 And tho follows who called them •
selves your friends, and who led you on
into that folly an 1 extravagance,” re
marked Mr. Sturgoss, forgetful of what
lie hod iust said about “ an innocent
frolic.”
" Well, I've doi.o with them, and it
<hall never happen again if I’ve a will ol
my own," said Mr. Philip Booker, with
an expression of firm resolve,
" But what will you do about those
hotting bills, sjnoo your uncle rofusos to
pay them
I’ll jmy them myself, so soon as I'm
dile, and ho done with it ull. You see,
)ld fellow”—turning around and seriously
looking his companion in the face—“ I’ve
come to the conclusion to face fortune
boldly aud win my own way iu the world.
I’m only eight-and-twonty, you know,
uid have abundant health and strength.
Why should I not succeed as well ns any
Alter man who begins on such capital ?”
“ Uut you haven’t been used to it —
.what can you do?” said his friend, hope
lessly.
“ Well, I’vo been thinking it over, you
ee, aud ltavo concluded that the best
ihui will ho to emigrato to America, and
•liero, in those far Western prairies, to
dart a ranch. All you have to do as a
beginning is to catch the wild cattle; and
that costs nothing, you know. And I’ve
rend of enormous fortunes made in a few
years by ranchmen.”
“ Phil,” saitl Stnrgess, solemnly, ‘‘you
haven’t yet got over your fever, I see.
When your head is clearer wo will talk ■
over this. Meanwhile—”
And without concluding his sontenoo,
flurry Sturgoss meditatively resumed his
walk up and down the lloor, /
Suddenly ho stopped, and, with the
light ns of a great discovery illuminating
his countenance, abruptlyaddressed his
friend:
" Phil, I’ve just thought of tho best
thing in tho world for you to do I You
shall marry my Aunt Priscilla 1”
The other looked up in surprise.
“ Do you menu that maidou aunt of
yours down iu Hampshire, who is so fond
of you?”
“Tho very.samo 1" responded Sturgoss,
enthusiastically. "She’s very rich, and
the best woman in tlie world ! • Her es
tate is the handsomest,' in that part of
tho country, and she has tho kindest
heart, and the sweetest temper of any
ono 1 ever know. Sho'll permit you to
have your own way in everything—that
is, if you conduct yourself rationally—
and allow you unlimited tin. Why, tho
idea is splendid ! Aud I congratulate
ou, Phil—upon my soul, I do !”
“Thanks, my dear fellow,said Ins
friend, with ft benevolent smile; “but
aren’t your congratulations rather pre
mature’? Even taking it for granted
that your excellent relative would accept
such a worthless follow as myself, I must
assort frankly that nothing on earth shall
induce mo to marry for money, even if
tho woman be young and beautitul; lmt
an old lady, and ono whom I have heard
you admit to be plain and eccentric—
whv, you must be joking.' .
Harry stared thoughtfully, at Ins
friend, and absently pulled down tho
corners of his moustneho. .
“It’s true,” he said, an a disappointed
tone “she’s no chicken, and no great
beauty, either; but she’s very nice and
pleasant lor all that. As to her eccen
tricities—well, she does keep bu ds, and
.logs, and such things ; but I dn.ro say
that if she married, she d give thorn all
ip for the sake of her husband.
‘‘Whyhasn’t she married?’'
“That’s another of her oddities. She
inis alwiivs had a morbid dread of being
courted 'for her money, ns was the case
with her unhappy mother, and so she
roes very little into society, and lives on
her estate, with only the old servants
and ft companion—a distant, pool it lft-
tiop of her own. But sue isu t selMb,
and she does a great (leal of 8°“J..' W *“*
her money. And by-the-hy, Phil,
you knowtliot I laid another Wt e pk
to proposo for tho present ? What do
you sajy to going down with l»e $oi .i
week or so to my little speck ot a place—
the Pepper-box? You are looking
wrotehedly, I must say ; and two weeks
"f sliooting over the moors and fishiu,
in our trout-stream will set you oil yoiu
feet again, besides giving you timo to
decido upon your next step."
“You’re a good fellow, Horry, and 1
titall be_delighted, I nm sure—provided
I don’t intrude upon any one. Haven’i
.1 heard you say that your place adjoined
four aunt’s estate ?”
“It was part of it, originally. When
my groat uncle, Colonel Pepper, died
lie left his estate to my Aunt PriscilTn
with the exception of one remote little
comer, whieli ho generously clipped oil
and bequeathed as a token of displeasure
‘o my father, who hod unhappily
•(Vended him. Tho old fellow called il
■ hunting-box, but I have christened it
be Pepper-box. It’s a pretty little bit
f scenery, after all—divided from Aunt
Priscilla's by the trout stream ; ntui as
her house is more than a milo distant,
Micro will bo no danger of our troubling
her."
A week later saw tho friends estab
lished in tho fancifully named Pepper
box—a little brick cottage, half covered
with vines and wholly buried iu an ex
quisite bit of beooliwood, through which
was an outlook upon the distant moors.
From a rustic bridge, which crossed the
stream, was nlso to bo had a view of a
stately old mansion, with a terraced gar
den descending to the water’s edge, and
in tho lmok-ground a finely timbered
I irk, in which Mr. Booker sometimes
ventured to stroll,
Harry Stnrgess jrnid frequent visils to
his aunt, excusing his friend on the score
of his “ state of health," though inform,
ing him that Miss Prisoillahadexpressed
kindly sympathy niul sent him an invita
tion to call at the hall when he should*
feel himself weir enough. Meantime she
bestowed upon him quantities of early
grapes and ponchos, and supplied her
nephew’s bachelor establishment with
various extra comforts and luxuries for
the uso of the invalid.
Mr. Booker regarded these favor's with
suspicion, and was very careful to keep
out of sight of Harry’s maiden aunt.
But one evening, strolling along tlie
stream with Stnrgess, equipped with
fishing rod and tackle, they passed the
terrace and behold walking there, quite
unconscious of their vicinity, two ladies.
One was toll, sallow and stately, dressed
in black satin, and enrrying a lace para
sol over her elaborately frizzled head.
Tlie other was much younger, and sim
ply attired iu a brown straw garden hat
and a plain gray dress, fitting very
closely to a graceful figure. 8he had a
basket on her arm, into which she was
cutting a variety of (lowers, occasionally
stopping to prune away a spray hero and
there, evidently nt tho dictation of the
elderly lady.
"My aunt, Miss Priscilla Courtenay,”
said Harry Bturgess, “ and her compan
ion, Miss Sophie Courtenay. Whnt dc
you think of her?” ho added, with an in
terest which he could not disguise.
Nice looking and lady-like, isn’t she?”
“Well—yes, certainly, for her age.
But I pity that poor little companion.”
“Oh, nonseuse 1 My Aunt Priscilla is
not thft dragon you evidently think her,
nor is Miss Sophie tyrannized over, I as
sure you. Of course, as a salaried com
panion, sho lias her duties to perform,
and is expected to fulfill them.”
“So I should think," murmured
Booker, fts ho saw the young lady kneel
an a gravel walk nud dig away at tho
root of a rosebush. “Is sho generally
calledupou to do gardner’s work?”
“It’s Iter own choice. She’s a clever,
active, young woman, who can turn her
hand to anything, ns occasion requires,
and likes to do so. She’s never com
pelled to do what sho don’t like.”
Philip rather doubted this assertion
when on tho following day lio again had
a glimpse of tho two ladies, seated iu a
little pavilion on the terrace. The older
was comfortably dozing in. a wicker
irm-chnir, while her companion read to
her.
Philip caught the sound of her voice,
sweet aud clear, but rather wearied, lie
thought; and her saw her, on discovering
her companion to be asleep, quietly close
tlio book, and leaning back, gaze with a
sort of sad wistfulness away to tho sun
lit horizon.
“Poor little woman 1” he murmured, to
himself, as he passed on. “I wish there
were some worthy curate, or doctor, or
lawyer in tho neighborhood to marry
her and rescue her from that lonely and
dependent life with Harry’s aunt!"
Somehow' he got into the habit of
strolling down toward the terrace garden;
and on.one of these occasions fate did
for him what in his secret heart ho had
been rather wishing for—she made him
acquainted with Miss Priscilla Courte
nay’s companion.
The young lady, when he first unex
pectedly oamo upou her, was standing
on the bobk of the stream, endeavoring
with her parasol to recover tlio brown-
straw hat whioh was slowly drifting out
of her reach. Siio started and colored
at sight of Philip.
<‘Pray allow mo to assist you, he said
courteously liftiug his hat.
Aud cutting a long, slender reed, he
succeeded in rescuing tho unfortunate-
property* », . -.
“1 am much obliged, I am sure, siud
the young Indy, pleasantly; “but how aru
[ to‘get my hat, now that you have saved
it? There is no bridge here, though
there ought to be ono.”
"I think I can cross it m a couple ol
leaps,” he said, measuring the distance
with his eye.
“Pray don’t attempt it. You will be
fiiro to miss that rock in the middle of
the stream, easy as it looks. It is slip
pery, and tho water deep enough to give,
you a thorough bath."
“I will try, nevertheless.
She watched him with interest; ucd
when ho kept his footing on tho treach
erous rock, and then made the final
oral times had tho pleasure of seeing
yourself and Miss Priscilla Courtenay
ou tho terraces. My frisnd, Mr. Star-
gess, told me who you were. ’’
Sho smiled, and again colored n little.
“Since you are so frank, I must make
a similar confession. I have more than
onco soon you strolling past by tho btook-
side or haunting tho park shades, and
respecting your love for solitude, have
refrained from interrupting you. So you
see we have been actually hiding from
eaoh other I”
“I nm greatly indebted to chance for
bringing us together at last,” he said
gallantly.
“You aro Mr. Harry Sturgess’s friend,
the hospitality ot his Pep
per-box ! How do you relish life in that
diminutive abode? Spioy, isn’t it?”
It could not be otherwise with Harry
for a companion. A more genial and
cheerful spirited fellow I never knew. 1
came down hero quite an invalid and his
companionship hns almost restored me.”
Almost t" with n little, quizzionl
glance; "really, if your performance
just now was that of an invalid, what
wonderful things you must be able to do
when iu health i”
He accompanied her to the foot of the
garden, looking down into her bright,
expressive fnco, nnd thinking what nr.
attrnctivo ono it was, though certainly
possessed of no olaims to regular beauty.
Ho told his friend of the interview.
“Sho appears to be really an interest
ing nnd superior young lady,” he said,
seriously.
^ “Well, job ; she’s clever and sensible,
and very self-reliant."
“Do yon know, I think it a pity she
isn't married ? I have on idea tlint sho
would mako a good wife for a poor
11”
I’ve heard her say she would rather
marry a poor man."
Really I But then sho hns no idea
what that means. Fanoy, now, my ask
ing hor to go with me to those Western
prairies and live on a rnnoh? She wouM
be rather taken aback, hey?"
"Well, I rather think she’d go—if slu-
liked you. I don’t doubt hut that she
would bo willing to milk tho cows, anil*
I lord'the calves, nnd call the cattle home,
you know, across tho sands o’ Doe, or
Mississippi, or whatever it might lie !
But for my part, I’d rather marry a rich
woman at onco."
‘ ‘And I would prefer to marry * woman
whom I oonld love, and esteem, were
she as poor as Job’s turkey I" asserted
Mr. Booker, in a tone of defiance.
And presently his friend heard him
whistling, absently:
“Oil, Mary, go and call tho cattle homo!”
Next day Mr. Philip Booker soid,ralhoi
hesitatingly:
“Harry, don’t you think it would bi
is well for me to call on your aunt, nnd
ibank her for all her kindness?”
' 1 She’d be delighted. Will this morn
ing do ?”
So a few hours after saw them solemnly
ascending the steps of tho terrace, ami
then shown into a large and handsoun
apartment, with window,* opening dowi
to the ground. From these they could
hoc tho two ladies approaching the housi
from across the lawn.
‘' Your aunt is really quite a statch
old lady,” Philip remarked.
“ Old lady ! Why, Aunt Priscilla b
only twenty-six !’’
Twenty-six! Why, Harry, she musi
be—excuse me—certainly in her fifties
She lms gray hair 1”
“ Oh, you are mistaking Miss Sopliii
Courtenay for my aunt. Whnt an odd
fancy 1 Why, that old lady is my aunt'i
companion, and the younger ono—tin
one in tho gray dress and brown hat—is-
my Aunt Prisoilla."
“ Harry, you’re joking."
“Notntall. It is as I tell you. You’ll
soo whon I introduoe yon.”
‘ ‘ But—you said your auut was old."
“I said she was no chicken—nor is
she at twenty-six. It was you who called
her an old lady !”
“ Aud you called her plain 1”
“ I said she was no great beauty ; nor
is sho. Tho fact is, that because slu
happens to bo my aunt, and to have tin
unfortunate name of Priscilla, .you set
her down at onco for an ugly old maid,
and I 'refrained from breaking that agree
able delusion, being Willing that you
thould see and judge for yourself,”
Mr. Bookor felt as though in.a dream ;
and although Harry’s aunt mode herself
very agreeable, ho returned home in a
despondent,mood.
“ I’m almost sorry, Harry, that—that
she is your rich nunt instead of the poor
companion. She might think, yon
know, that I—hem I”
“Don’t let that doubt trouble you,
my friend. I told her when t first came
down all about your peremptory refusal
to marry her, because sho was rich, and
though she scolded mo I could see slu-
was delighted. Go nhead, my dear boy,
nnd if you can’t be satisfied with Prissie’t
p ace, 1 am certain she won’t refuse tc
share your ranch.”
And Mr. Harry Sturgess joyouslj
whistled:
“ Oil, Mary, go and call tlio cattle home.”
—Itlu8tratc r l World.
A Fraud.
spring to the opposite bank, she invol
untarily held out her hand as if to 08Hi.it
lU “How beautifully you did it! Do you
know that I have seen others attempt it
-—and fail? I used to wish to try it my
self when I was a school-girl, but Miss
Courtenay called mo a tom-boy.
“Indeed, I should not imagine Miss
Courtenay one to appreciate your per
formance in that line. ...,.
“Do you know her? she asked, a little
-‘I have seen her. Indeed 1 UftYO fte v '
John Moranda was a successful fraud
ulent hero for a week in Salt Lake city.
Ho carried one arm in a sling, and said that
he had hurt it by a fall. Then his con
federate, William Naylor, came forward
with a thrilling account of being robbed
by highwaymen, who would have mur
dered him had not Moranda gallantly
fought them off. “He’s so modest that
ho lied about his arm,” Naylor added;
“it is wounded by a bullet. The scoun
drels took my last dollar, but as soon os
I get a remittance fiom New York he’s
got to take his reward.” Both men
were lavishly entertained while pretend
ing to wait for tho draft, and they found
it easy to borrow several hundred dollars
before tho time came for disappearing.
AT SUNSET.
.Mark how the golden sunbeams quiver—
So they shono in tlio Mays gone by,
Alien arm in arm by tlio quiet i Iver
We wandored at sunset, sbo and I.
Oil 1 wliat a beauty waa in tlio island,
Oh ! what a glow oil the distant sea;
What a halo of glory o'er vale and highland,
That summer evening sho walked with met
Tlio sky was bright, for it shono above hor;
The earth was fair that she walked npon;
And life wa* *»ect— could I anght but love
her,
As arm clasp id arm while wo sauntered on?
Ha* she forgotten that golden glory,
That path of light on tlio distant sea,
And th* wave* that murmured their lasting
• story, •
Hat summer evening she walked with mo?
Ah, well, perhaps—'tie th* old rocital
Of lovo unlocked for und unbelleved 1
Was she to blame for Its non-requital?
Was she to blame that my heart deceived?
Her love was friendship—my friendship loving,
That deepened still *b the days went by,
TUI It worshiped, a* thereby tho Ylvor roving,
We wandered at sunset, she and I.'
Well, well, Ood blocs hor! ’Tis mine forover.
That imago of her In tho days gone o'or;
l ••* it still by the quiet river,
It walks by my side ou tlio poacoful shore.
I hear her voice in the luw, soft sighing,
As oomes tho tldo from tlio rolling sea,
Like her whispered word* to my words reply
ing,
That summer evening she walked with mo.
God bless hor over 1 I pray nnceiMng,
In memory still of tlio days gone by—
For that lovo remains knowing no decreas
ing—
We're froimls forever, both she and I.
May her path still ahine like the golden gleam
ing
That glancod so far on the distant sea,
And hor life bo sweet as my own fond dreaming,
That summer evening sho walked with me.
Wanted a rabode.—A thief was m-
rested in Louisville, Ky., on tho day
before the opening of the Exposition.
He offered $1,000 for a parole until
ni ter the show, as he had confidently ex
pected to pick a large number of rich
pockets nnd disliked to have his plans
I'nisR'iited,
A. Mormon "W ay*
BY BELINDA BLENHEIM.
The circumstances tinder which wo
look Janet wero a littlo peculiar, but
tlioro seemed to be no help for it. I
was ill with neuralgia and the baby
cross, and cook had vanished liko the
Aral)—“silently stole away"—only the
articles she took were of more value
than the “way.” Janet presented her
self, and looked the treasure that wo
soon found her to lie. She had .just
landed, she said, from the Old Country,
nnd hod heard from on old friend, Mrs.
Baker, that I waa iu need of a servant,
aud lost no time in applying for the sit
uation. Of course she had no referen
ces, aud if there had been smooth sail
ing nt otu' house I would not have been
so rash as to engage her at once. But I
did it, and withiu a month had decided
that I had done wisely. Janet on her
part mndo one stipulation, nnd tlint was
tlint I keep no other servant.. She said
she was willing and able to do all the
work in tho house. She hnd resolved
long ago to never servo in any family
where sho could not bo entirely alone in
doing it. It was such an extraordinary
event for a person to want extra work,
that I was surprised but only too willing
to accede to her terms in that respect.
We lived in a small oity about one hun
dred milos from the seaboard, and
“help" was never too plenty.
Janet brought up the roar of a long
sorios of incapubles who condescended
to accept our wages in consideration of
their own incapacity, and we did not at
first believe in her virtues—we called her,
between ourselves the “new broom”—
but os timo woro on she become a treas
ure in every sense of the word. Wo
oaine finally to look upon hor as tho de
voted friend of tho family. She appeared
to have no other object in life than our
comfort and well-being. Not tliatsho
lias ever said uo, or that she was at all
demonstrative. She was far from that
—in foot, no one could bo less so—but
all her actions went td show it. She
was a woman of, I should judge, forty
years of age when she first came to see
us. She had been a servant in first-
class families in the “Old Country,” and
had that look of concentration in her
face that we so seldom seo in tho coun
tenances of domestics in America. She
told me on first coming that she could
neither read or write, whioh I thought
a great pity, but she did not seem to
care about it. She said she hod more
time to see about her proper business
than those who were in the habit of
reading when they should be working;
but, if she could not read, I soon found
her memory to be excellent. Having
read a cooking recipe to her once, I
never had to repeat it, even if it were
months before I ordered the article
again. If anything was misplaced in
tho house, it was Janet who found it or
could remember having seen it. I got
in the way of telling her r» great deal of
our “ins‘and outs,” and quite enjoyed
conversing with her about any littlo
a lairs 1 was interested in; and her sug
gestions and counsel, though nevei
offered unless asked, and then iu .the
-most modest and humble way, were
often of great value to me. She never
intruded on us with, any familiarity in
consequence of our parti.dity for her.
But she was not an angel by any
means, as one might suppose after hear
ing this account of her. Her temper
was often on a “high”-for days together,
and she made it quite unoomfortable
for us, as overy knowing servant can do.
Not by disrespectful words or any in
attention to specified orders, but by
neglecting the little things that she was
so famous for remembering, and by
frequently tossing her head aud mutter
ing unintelligible phrases. She never
broke any dishes in my house, but the
way she rattled them about on her
“days” made me tremble for my ohina.
When we were awakened in the morn
ing with the shutters banging open, and
the windows slammed, and Ml the hosts
of the Ohaldeans tramping about in the
kitchen, we knew that one of Janet’s
tantrums was on hand, and von may
be sure the children avoided her do
mains for that day. We were so hearti
ly found of her that these outbreaks,
whioh in another servant wpuld have
been followed by dismissal, we quietly
ignored, and accepted the evil along
with so muoh good that its baleful in
fluence was soaroeljy minded, 'I early
fond that to soothe or coax hor in any
way only mado mntters worse, and the
boat remedy I ever hit upou was giving
her a little extra work to do. As she
was the only servant we kept, wo could
easily do that.
When my littlo boy was ill, ami gradu
ally faded away from us, JnuetV kind
sympathy was untiring. I shall never
cease to remembei her devotion dnring
these sorrowful times. It was into her
fuithful nrms I laid him when fatigue
and exhaustion compelled me (o take
rest, and when the last moments of his
dear life had passed away it was Janet
who sustained my fainting form, and to
whoso prudence and care I owe my own
safety after a long illness.
By these things and a thousand others
she endeared herself to ns, and wo felt
that we oeuld never be parted from her
while lifo lasted. My hnsband provided
for Janet, by will, in case of his death
and mine, so that her future was safe;
and when we told her of it she did not
thank us in words, but showed her grati
tude in her own peculiar manner, nnd I
think she did not have another tantrum
for a month.
Suoh was tho condition of thingH at
tho beginning of her ninth year of ser
vice in our family. Sho hnd been with
us in joy and in soroow, had fondled my
new-born babes, and had laid in his
little cofiln onr only son. Her interests
and ours seemed identical, and we would
just os Boon have thought of sending ono
of our own littlo ones away from us as
to part with Janet. Her health was ap
parently gooii. She seemed strong and
well: but hnd she become a helploss in
valid hor homo would have been still
with us. She hod no relatives in Amer
ica oxcept a third or fourth cousin,
whom she visited on her afternoons out,
nnd on Sunday evenings. Her mother
iu the Old Country died whon Janet had
been with us aliout three years. Hhe
seldom heard from her father, and her
sisters and brothers nil had their own
little fnmilics, bo that it really seemed
that her only home was with us.
One memorable morning—memorable
for many a day and year in the calendar
of our family history—alio camo into the
room whilo wo wero at breakfast, and
placing some hot enkrs at tho side of my
plate made this remark:
“Mrs. St. John, I am afraid, ma’am,
these cakes are not so nice ns usual, hut
I hope you will forgive me for all."
It was n very strange thing for her to
say, and I lookod up in surprise. She
had a most unusual look in her face. It
was n mixture of terror and resolve. It
stmok mo nt tho timo because I had
dreamed such an odd tiling abont her
just before I awoke that very morning.
I thought sho was kneeling to an image
of brass and saying, "Oh, spare me!
spare mo I” in agonizing supplication,
and with tho very look on her face that
I saw now. Thinking of my dream, I
looked at hor closely, and only Raid:
"There's nothing amiss with the cakes,
Janet,” and sho left the room.
Tho cakes proved to bo inoro than
usually delicious, and as I rang for more
I remarked to Mr. St. John that Janet
must Imvo Raid that to get extra praiso
for her oooking; and we all smiled, nnd
waited to smile at her.
Wo waited in vain. She did not an
swer the sumaaous, and after ringing
again, I stepped into the kitchen to as
certain tho cause of the dolay. Janet
wns not there, and I could not find her.
I called Mr. St. John, and together we
went to her bedroom, nnd from there all
over the house, but no Janet was to bo
found. All through the day I expected
her to walk in at any moment, and
busied my mind woudering how on earth
she could account for her conduot; but
when night came, nnd no Janet, I grew
njarmed, and my husband went out
nnd bunted up her only acquaintance,
Mrs. Baker, but sho had seen or hoard
nothing of hor sinco tho Sunday previous.
Mr. St. John then went to the police
station nnd gave notice of hor disappear
ance. An officer retumod with mm to
tho house and another vain seoroh was
made. Her trunk and all hor clothing and
her personnl effects were in their proper
places. Nothing had been removed ap
parently. Tho officer wns of the opinion
that she had taken a situation more to
her liking, and had dreaded saying any
thing about it to mo, and so took this
easy method of making the oliange. But
we scouted the idea. It was simply im
possible of belief, knowing Janet as we
did. The officer shrugged his shoulders,
nnd no doubt thought us a parcel of
fools. After ho had retired, Charles
said he feared we must come to it sooner
or later that the man’s theory was right;
out I knew better, and would not be
lieve it, though it seemed the only feasi
ble explanation. Nelly, my oldest
daughter, remembered to have heard
voices in the kitchen the night beforo,
while wo were at the opera, but supposed
Mrs. Baker was paying Janet a visit ns
she sometimes did in tho evening.
Weeks and months passed away opd
no tidings of our dear old servant. Wo
locked her room and allowed no one Uo
enter it, leaving her things exactly as
os she had left them. This was done by
the advice of the police officer for some
reason best known to himself. He ad
mitted by this time that Janet could not
have taken another situation in the city,
as she would have boen found ere this
had such been tho ease. The story had
been noised about a good deal at the
time.
At last Charles advertised a reward of
one thousand dollars tor any information
tvliich might lead to her whereabouts,
living or dead. A detective came out
from Philadelphia to look it up, He ex
amined the house from top to bottom,
but did not give us any encouragement.
He spent more than an hour in Janet’s
old room, and when he deported he said
that if we heard from him at all it would
be very soon. Charles thought from
something the man said, some word that
he had dropped, that ho had found a
clue.. But we lost all hope when threo
weeks had gone by and no message had
come. I was thoroughly disheartened
anyhow, and my nerves were wrought
up to such a pitch that I started at every
sound.
One evening, just five months after
Janet’s mysterious disappearance, the
door-bell rang, and Charles (in the ab
sence of Janet’s successor), going to the
door, found there the detective officer, ac
companied by another man. My hus
band showed them into the library, and
after aft interview of about an boui be
THE MERCURY.
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*r opinion* of oorreepondente. < f
came to me to aek me to join them. He
was looking very grave, aqd I eaw that
Uo had some nows.
“Compose yourself, Maria,” he said,
(or I waa trembling with nervouaneee.
“I am afraid yon will be very much
shocked.”
You may bo suro his remark did not
tend to oompose me ; but I accompanied
him to the library, and there, dear
reader, I passed through sueh a scene
of astonishment, indignation and sorrow
ns I hope to be spared again. Many
years have passed since that boor, but I
enn this moment recall vividly tlie pain
ful sensationa I' experienced that even
ing in the library.
For Janet, whom we loved and whom
we trusted so implicitly, waidnring all
the years she was in onr home, the paid
spy of a secret society., She was an
educated woman, and impoaiiag upon ns
by her affectation of ignoranoe, had free
access to all our letters, papers and cor
respondence. Sho hnd placed, or caused
to be placed, a wire from her room to
onr family sitting-room, and by that
means could put herself in possession of
all onr private conversation. This was
long before the introduction of the tele
phone to tho world, but the principle*
had been used by tnatsooiety for years.
The detective, Mr. Jenks, said that the
discovery of one end of the wire, from
winch the receiver had been evidently
suddenly removed, was the olue he
found. He had known of that society
having nsed wires iu that way
before. I was very seldom in
Tanetlt room, and we suppose that
some of her bolongiugs were used to
conceai the arrangement. The other
end of tho wire in the sitting-room was
adjusted in a ventilating flue oat of im
mediate sight. The man who aooom*
panied Mr. Jenks belonged to the society,
but had been induced to betray its
secrets up to a certain limit for a consid
eration. Why they noedod a spy in our
family, or what lienefit they derived
from it, the man did not know or would
not tell, and we have never since ascer
tained. He said there were hundreds
of spios in every lnrge city at the bidding
of the society. We oould learn nothing
from him of tho name and nature or the
objects of tho association. He would
nnswer no questions whioh did not bear
directly on the disappearanoe of onr old
servaut. Charles inquired where Janet
was now, and after some hesitation the
man said she was sent to London and
placed iu the household of a nobleman.
Just as he was leaving he seemed to be
touched by my evident sorrow, and vol
unteered the information that Janet was
greatly distressed at being obliged to
leave us, and bod besought in vain to
tie spared the necessity, but she waa
altogether too useful a tool to be left at
auy place one moment longer than tha
demands of the society required.
The man evidently knew oil abont tha
whole affair, and wo wore compelled to
believe liis story by the proofs that he
gave. Wo hove never seen him since,
uor do wo know bis name nor his piaoe
of residence. And we do not even know
whether Mrs. Baker was in the plot. She
hud left tho oity some time before the
denouement.
A few years later, while traveling in
England, we saw Janet for one instant in
a carriage that whirled post onr own.
Swift as was tlio recognition I saw that
it was mutual, and though I experi
enced a pang of sorrow, I waa glad to
notioe that she looked oonscienoe-
strieken.
Recent public events have given name
and shape to our theories of the ease,
and I givo it for whnt it is worth in the
title to my true storj’. — Our Continent.
AN ACTRESS’S ilDM BATH.
“Maggie Mitchell is accustomed be
tween tlie acts to refresh herself by a
prescription of her physician,” says a
writer iu The Dramatic News. “This
proscription simply involves her being
submitted to n sponge bath of rum.
Tlie constituent ol the bath is carried
with the baggage in a five-gallon demi
john, replenished as occasion demands.
This demijohn is Rent from the railway
to the theatre, where it remains in
charge of tho property man,
“Toward tho end of the lost season
Miss Mitchell began to notice that her
bath did not have the recuperative ef
fect upon her that it was wont to. Tho
oiroumstanoe.alarmed her very much, an
it suggested the remedy was losing its
value through some deterioration of her
system. Her physioian, however, as
sured her that this was not the ease.
The fault,he said,must rest with the rum.
“ But the liquor was of the very best
quality, os the bills of the house whioh
supplied it showed. There happened to
be a little left in the demijohn ]ust then
aud the doctor sampled it. Then he
smiled, wrote an order which he sent to
the nearest drug store, aud after certain
manipulations of tho demijohn of fresh
liquor, in connection with a package of
powders, he said, mysteriously:
“ ‘I guess you will know what is tho
matter with the stuff by to-morrow.’
“That evening there was weeping and
wailing and gnashing of teeth in the
property-room. Several of the attaches
of the theatre were very 111 indeed, and
Miss Mitchell’s rum henceforth resumed
its pristine strength. When you ask the
doctor for an explanation of the mys
tery, he replies in words to this effect:
“ 'Well, you see, an emetio don’t spoil
liquor for bathing purposes, as water
does; but it hurts it—hurts it pretty
badly- -for drinking ’ ”
A View op it.—Sonator Hoar, of
Massachusetts, says that Americans will
stand more iu the matters ot poor serv
ing and high prices than, any other na
tion. He says that practically the pro
tectionist and free trader do not Btand
very far apart, there being only a meta
physical distinction, and it. being neces
sary to raise money for tho support of
the government by impost duties. He
says that every job iu the lost tariff bill
was wedged iu by a free trader.
Love.—A wealthy family for several
successive years found a quiet rural re
treat ou the borders of Moose Lake, in
the AdirondackB, where they camped
out nnd employed several Indian guides.
They had a romantic son, and one of the
Indians had- a oaptivatiug daughter.
These two paired in secret but lawful
mnrriage, but were forcibly separated
qiul g Iftwsuit ia the ups^, ’