Newspaper Page Text
WHEN I’M DEAD.
X don't want no new fancied flowers piled on
. niv coffin v.heu I’m
Jmt pick a bunch o’ daffodils ami lay ’em
'round ray head.
Don't make a floral emblem of a pillar broke
in t wo.
Or a cross of fancy flowers w* t with tho
morn in’ dew.
lost go out In the country, if it’s stunmer when
I die,
*Nd pvt lu r a few wild roses *nd a bunch o’
ripenin’ rye,
’Nil ln\ them on my coffin just above my breast,
Ibr if I'm worth more flowers angel* ’ll do tho
rest.
If lx's winter when the summons comes, ’nd
enow is on tlio ground,
Os course, out in tho country, no flowers can
Ihj found,
Baal there’s always lots o’ evergreen hid under
neath the snow,
•Round tho trunks o* hemlocks with their
branches bangin’ low;
Jnsi gather up a bunch 'nd make a wreath or
t wo,
'Nd lay them on my coffin, 'nd I guess that’ll
do.
Somehow too many flowers'd look all out o*
place
llled upon my coffin ’nd stuck all ’round my
face,
Fbr I never liad no beauty 'nd ain’t lived none
too straight,
r Nd a pile o’ fancy flowers won’t help mo
through the gate.
If the L* rd is goiu’ to take me to dwell in the
land o’ bliss,
Bell do it, ’nd I’ll bo happy ’ud the (lowers
never’ll miss.
—II. L. Hines, in Springfield llotnostcad.
A BROKEN ENGAGEMENT.
Tom Barclay and Elizabeth Murray
never understood each other very well,
;uid yet they had been engaged for a
year. They had known each otlier
long before the engagement, too, but,
although a man seldom quite under
stands a woman, Tom was even more
dense in this respect than most men,
and Elizabeth, more difficult than most
women for any man to comprehend,
unconscious of the fact, wondered at
Tom’s many failures in this direction.
They were very good friends, how
ever, and thought they loved each
otlier—hail even said so in stfie.t con
fidence —and, as I said, were engaged
to be married. In fact, Miss Murray
was already at the mercy of dressmak
ers and milliners, for it was December
late December and the wedding
was set for the 10th of January.
One night, the dressmakers and mil
liners having kindly waived their claims
for a few hours, Mr. Barclay called to
see his prospective bride. lie was not
in the best possible humor; an ugly east
wind drove the sleet into his face as he
walked the few blocks from the cable
care to Miss Murray’s home, for Tom
thought too much of Ids horses to take
them out on such a night; a man had
failed him in an important business ap
pointment, and it is quite possible that
he was a trifle bilious; at all events, lie
•was about as cross as he ever allowed
liimself to become.
Mow it happened that Elizabeth was
nearly worn out with the turmoil inci
dent to the preparations for a fashiona
ble wedding. She was nervixis and ir
ritable ; probably the east wind affect
ed her also. She needed some one to
smooth her hair, talk tender, comfort
ing words —in short, pet her until she
was rested; for the woman never yet
lived who did not like occasional pet
ting.
Now, Thomas Barclay was not a
demonstrative man, and petting was
something out of his line. How was lie
to know, especially in his unamiable
mood, that the young girl soon to be
his wife was in no condition to meet
impatience patiently.
“Thank fortune,” ho
kissing her as a matter of course, and
dropping into a cliair, “tills dress mak
ing row will soon be over. I’ve scarcely
seen you for a month. I won’t have a
dressmaker on the place after we are
married.”
Mr. Barclay did not mean anything
by this speech; it was simply an ebul
lition of temper, and Elizabeth should
have met it as such; it suited her mood,
however, to retort with:
“Indeed! I mean to have a dress
maker in tlie house all the time.”
“I wouldn't if I were you,” disagree
ably, “especially against my wishes.”
“And I should!” she returned defi
sintly.
“Well ” then common sense as
cried itself, and he laughed. “Do you
know, Beth, we are just ready to quar
rel about nothing) My wife will prob
.ahly do as she pleases.”
Miss Murray did not smile. She was
morbidly sensitive, and an ugly thought
had lodged in her brain. She said
.quietly: y
“Tom, I don’t like that remark of
yours at all. I wonder if it is possible
that after our marriage you would at
tempt to coerde me in the least/”
Tom was obstinate. It would have
been better not to haye asked the ques
tion. He said:
“A woman promises to obey when
she marries.”
“Not always; the word is frequently
left out of the marriage service. It
would be better left out of ours.”
“Do you mean that you will not
obey?” asked he, looking at tier curi
ously.
“Just that.”
“A man is the head of the family; it
is a wife’s duty to obey. ”
“So I have beard. I never thought
of marriage in this light before —a bond
age. It seems to me that a woman’s
freedom is something not to be given
up lightly. I have never been dictated
to since I left school, and do not be
lieve I should take it kindly. Tom, I
don't believe I want to marry von, or
anybody: why,"with a sadden flash of
passion, “if you laid a command upon
me after our marriage I really believe
I should hate you V'
It crossed Tom's mind that it might
be as well for a man to curb his temper
until after the wedding day. Ho rose,
i walked across the room, pushed aside
I the heavy curtain and looked out, Tho
progpeet was not pleasing; the sky was
black, and the driving sleet pelted
against the plate gla>s. Ho came back
t-> who. Miss' e-ray - looking
the Arc and apparently lost in thought.
"K' til. I thought you loved me.”
“Did you) I thought so, too, though
1 have been told often enough t hat I
didn’t"
“Who told you so?”
“Mamma, for one. Aunt Clare for
another. You see, mamma married
papa for love when he was a |«H>r man,
and Aunt Clare's husband died before
the honeymoon was over. She mourns
him yet. They always said 1 didn’t
know the first principles of love; per
haps they were right.”
Mr. Barclay was never so thoroughly
astonished in Ills twenty-eight years of
life; he asked, rather stiffly:
“Will you kindly stats 1 why you en
gaged yourself to me/”
“Well. Tom, 1 always liked you.
We’ve known each other for years.
Our families are intimate. What more
natural than that you, the only son,
aud I, the only daughter, should marry I
Besides,” with a little break in the clear
voice, “until to-night I thought you
loved me.”
Tom pulled his chair close to Eliza
beth's and drew her head down to his
shoulder. He ought to have done that
earlier in the evening. Then he said:
“My dear, what possesses you? You
know I love you.”
For an instant the yellow head rested
where he had placed it. Then Miss
Murray drew herself away and rose tc
her feet.
“No, Tom. It is too late to make
me believe that. We are not fitted to
make each other happy. 1 am quite
certain of it. Let us break off our en
gagement.”
“And all on account of that con
founded speech of mine about a dress
maker!” he exclaimed, savagely.
“Not entirely that, 1 feel that you
do not love me. and something tells
me that I ought not to lie your wi f e.”
Mr. Barclay, man like, loved the wo
man who was slipping away from him
at this moment better than ever be
fore, and he had loved her always, in
Ills way; he hail made a mistake in not
showing his affection more plainly.
“Beth,” lie said, “forgive me. I
didn’t mean it. I was a brute. As my
wife you will he free as air; you must
know that. Think a moment; it is not
an unpardonable offense, is it?”
“I tell you it is not because of what
you said,” she reiterated, “it is be
cause I know you do not love me, and
that I ain not at all sure that 1 love
you.”
Mr. Barclay’s temper began to rise
again. He remarked:
‘This is a nice statement for a man
to hear three weeks before his mar
riage.”
“Much nicer than it would be three
weeks after,” she retorted. “The invi
tations are not out; no one outside of
our families know that the day was set.
I will take my finery,” she added with
a smile, “and go to Italy. Take your
ring, Tom, and say good-by,” drawing
off the diamond.
Mechanically Tom dropped tho circlet
into his picket. Suddenly he took a
step toward her, caught lierin his arms,
kissed her once, twice, three times,
with all the passion of a man who
loves, then, releasing her, turned arid
left the room, wliilo Miss Murray, white
and trembling, sank into her chair, hid
lier face and cried bitterly.
**** " * *
Much to Elizabeth’s surprise, Mr.
Barclay made no attempt to see or
speak to her again. She explained
where it was necessary:
“Mr. Barclay and I have changed
our minds.”
A month later she and Aunt Clara
were outward bound for Italy for their
goal. The balance of the winter and
the following spring and summer were
spent roaming from place to place.
Then one of those financial cyclones
called a panic swept over the United
Stab's, and Miss Murray and her aunt
were called home. Thomas Barclay,
though a young man, was a large deal
er in coffi*e, teas .-uid spices. His was
one of a dozen firms that failed tli&t
autumn. Dishonest and unfortunate
creditors had cost him $10(1.000. But
tliat cut no figure in wt.Chig up his
own affairs. He cleared Ills stables,
sold every inch of real estate, and
when his own creditors wepe paid dol
lar for dollar Mr. Barclay mail a clean
conscience, a stainless record and $5,000
in cash.
He went west, and Miss Murray heard
no more of liim. Her father, an im
porter of silks and foreign fabrics, cur
tailed expenses and, aided by a gencr
ous loan from Aunt Clare, weathered
the storm. •
One summer two years later Eliza
beth and her mother joined a party who
were going to make a tour of the north
west, penetrating even the wilds of
Alaska before their return.
It was in Portland that Miss Murray
met with an accident, and a treacher
ous banana peeling was to blame for it.
She hail gone out alone to make some
small purchases, and, stepping on the
deceitful {i«el, would have fallen head
long had not a gentleman just behind
her caught her in his arms. Almost
fainting with the pain of a badly sprain
ed ankle Miss Murray looked into Mr.
Barclay's gray eyes.
'Tom—Mr. Barclay!” she stam
mered, fighting the faintness that near
ly overcame her, and then rallying
enough to understand that Tom was
asking anxiously, “Are you hurt?” “My
ankle is sprained," she said, with white
Upe, I
WALKER COUNTY MESSENGER.—JULY 28, 1802.
A crviwtl wies gathering. A gent lo
nian ottered his assistance, and Eliza
beth xv:i> taken to the nearest store,
wliili I- in ..IV I a carriage anil then
noooininu lied her home.
In spite of the pain Miss Murray
eotiKl n t help looking at the nuui who
was to have heen her hnshand. That
iiuliviilual met her eyes and said :
“VVelir
M iss Murray blushed painfully, con
scious that she hud tieen staring.
“It is so long since I have simui yon.
and we used to be such good friends,”
site replied gently.
“Via ■ -■ ult is it that yon have not
seen me for so long.'" h•> landed;
and then, noting her fading eoior and
pale : 'ps. he said: "What a hrute 1 am
to lion you so wilt'll you are sntler
ing Mieli pains 1 was never gentle
enm ":h to win your love, Beth.”
“Did yon ever try, Tom?”
“1 thought 1 did,”
“Didn't, you take everything for
granted that you loved'lne and that 1
eared for you, and that in the course of
human events it was natural and propet
that we should get married?”
“Perhaps so,” he answered quietly;
and then the carriage stopped, the
driver was at the door, and Elizabeth
was carried up to her room. *
It was an obstinate, ugly sprain, and
held its victim a prisoner for six long
weeks. The party went on to Alaska,
leaving Mrs. Murray and her daiiglitci
at tiie hotel, and, quite as a matter of
course, Tom Barclay called often. He
was wonderfully gentle toward the
woman who had refused to he his wife.
Klizabetli did not know that lie was
try’ing to win her love, but Mrs. Murray
was well aware of that fact, and well
satisfied, too. Tom was established in
the old business in Portland, and again
on tins road to wealth. She had always
liked him, and shrewdly suspected that
Ills presence on this planet had some-,
thing to do with her daughter’s strange
indifference to certain brilliant matri
monial chances.
As for Elizabeth, sho was utterly
content and happy during the period ol
invalidism that confined her to the
house. What eared she for the beau
ties of Alaska, of which her friends
wrote such glowing descriptions. Did
sho not liavo long talks with Tom
every other evening? Though she-took
care that he knew nothing of tier quick
ening heart beats and bounding pulses
whenever he approached.
Elizabeth had been able to walk foi
a week. Her friends were due in two
days on tlieir return trip, and she anil
her mother were to join them and start
immediately for home.
Mr. Harelay asked the convalescent
to take a ride with him. He was 31,
Elizabeth 25. Mrs. Murray did not
think a chaperon necessary; neither
did Tom; they went alone.
•They were far better acquainted than
in the days when they were engaged.
Miss Murray admired the honest conr
age, the persevering independence with
wliich her friend was rebuilding his
fortune, and Tom loved her as he al
ways had, and as lie always would, and
had learned to show his affection in
many of the thousand ways that de
light a woman’s heart.
They talked of the scenery, of her ac
cident, and then of the coining parting.
Suddenly Tom exclaimed:
“Oh, Hetli. my darling, give me a,
word of hope before you go! You wen
mistaken in the old days. I always
loved you, and now that we have met
again I cannot let you go out of iny Ufa
forever?”
“If you always loved me, why have
you been silent all these- years?” in
quired Elizabeth.
“Eecauso 1 was stunned that night
when I left you, realizing that by my
own stupid blundering I lost you.
Then I set myself to do a penance. I
said, ‘I will wait five years; if another
wins her X sliall know that she could
never love mo; if not, perhaps f will
try again to gain her love; |tertians 1
shall b itter know her.’ You know The
rest. The crash came. I had to come
west ami begin over. lam not as rich
as I was then, but there is every pros
pect that 1 shall Ist, and I know, Beth,
that money makes no difference. I can
give you everything you want, even the
dressmaker, and indeed, indeed, dar
ling. that s[ssioli of mine was only the
outcome of bad temper, and”—hesi
tatingly— “perhaps I understand a
woman’s moods a little better now than
then.”
There wits a short silence, while Mr.
Barclay, having made his plea, waited
for the verdict. At length Elizabeth
said softly:
“Perhaps I loved you then, Tom. 1
could never care for any one else. I
always compared other men with you,
to their disadvantage. If you care to
come, after some time, I will Is; your
wife.”
Out of an inner pocket Tom took a
tiny morocco case, and opening it. Miss
Murray saw the solitaire tliat hod been
her engagement ring.
“I liave always carried it witli me,"
he said, simply, “because you liad
worn it.”
Soyiehow the tears sprang into Eliz
abeth's eyes when he slipped it on her j
linger.
Mrs. Murray was not at all surprised j
when lwr daughter announced with
several Wastes) that she was going to j
marry Thomas Barclay.
“I always thought you would,” tliat
lady replied cairnly.
The next winter Tom went east after
iris bride. They are happier than they j
wocrtii have been without that quarrel,
a biending of comedy and high tragedy,
but It does not follow that any one
should go and do likewise. —Bt. Paul
Globe. I
HOW TO TUNE A PIANO.
Hj of tin' rrofrsNtomil I'litno Tuner
l'-%l»l*ln«-<l to flit* Vulicur.
Always wear a silk hat if that article
i tits you. It look ; well. When vouch
I ter a in Kite pl.-u-o your card on the ox
idized sat tee dish the servant present*
I to you; it should In- small and plain
and engraved, ami if you are working
for a music firm their name should up
: pair in the lower left hand comer very
small. Always wear spotless linen; it
|is ex|H'iisive, hut it counts. l |>oii en
| tering the parlor place your hat, in
; verted, iqsm the finest reception chair,
and contrive to drape your handsome
ovens«xt iqsin some expensive chair or
lounge.
D|h'ii the piano with great ostenta
tion and try to fine a mouse nest in it.
If this is impossible, then, as the next
t>est tiling, try to discover mottis; the
older and richer the family the more
likely they will abound. In toning tin
piano lie sun> to set a faultlessly equal
temperament, and call attention to tin
fact and explain it, and make a clever
remark about Sir Michael (Vista, who
set the fashion, it will help to mystify
the people.
Should you lie so unfortunate as to
break a string, examine the broken
ends with your picket microscope lie
fore the wondering people and inform
them that the jiercontuiu of carbon in
the st<vl win' was insufficient, tliat it
liecame crystalline, and broke because it
was not strong enough to lurid.
If you should have occasion to sum
mon tlie servants use the electric an
nunciator in the drawing r<x>m. It is
there for that purpose. Do not spit on
the wall or floor behind the piano or in
the ornamental fireplace; use the cus
pidore; it is more stylish.
Endeavor to study the culture ol
your patrons, and when done tuning
execute a few motifs of symphonies, the
“Friska” and “l’ressimo,” from the
“Klmpsodio Hongroise, No. 2,” or a
fantasie on “Annie Rooney,” “Old
Black .Joe" or “Johnnie Get Your Gun,”
as may be acceptable to tlieir tastes.
In receiving payment for your work
dexterously display your parse, bound
in silver and lined with old gold; it will
help your chances for business in the
future. In leaving the house carry
your sachel of implements gracefully
and en regale, and leave the servant to
close the door after yon. —American Art
Journal.
The Artht iiutl the MmTiunlr.
Who is the artist and who is tho me
chanic?
An artist is simply a workmen who
knows what lie is doing, and does it as
well as ho possibly can. Tho workman
*i>f whom this may lie truly said is al
ways an artist.
The mechanic, properly speaking, is
the man who does tilings in a mechani
cal way. Two men may do the same
kind of work with exactly the same
tools, hut one may he an artist, and
the other is called an artificer or me
chanic. Hut one has learned totheut
termost not only the principles and the
meaning of what he does, but the very
best way of using the tools, to produce
mechanical results; whereas the other
]ierhu|>s has gone no deeper than the
surface of it-, and does it more or less
automatically, as he has been taught.
When a young nuui—it may also hr
said a young woman, since there is no
sex in art, and women nowaday* rival
men in tho originality and skill of tlieir
work has learned enough of any craft
or handiwork to make him a guisl
workman, and able to earn a good
workman’s pay, there is always some
thing more to Is: learned. J. K. Cham
berlin in Youth's Companion.
Wily It Wits IsMikfng Up.
Tho following story is told of old
“Father Taylor.” He one* went from
a certain town, noted for its apathy in
religious matters, to a conference meet
ing, where his brethren in the ministry
were comparing notes as to the condi
tion of church work in each one's lo
cality. Presently some one asked Fa
ther Taylor how tho religions interest
was in ?
“Oh,” replied that gentleman, “re
ligion is looking up in .”
This occasioned much surprise, as
such a declaration seemed directly con
trary to general reports?
“How is tliat?” was asked. “is
tliere any general awakening of tlie
churches f”
“No.”
“Any special interest on the ;<art of
those outside the churches?"
“No.”
“Well, then, how do you explain
your remark that religion is ‘looking
up’ in V'
“Why,” said Father Taylor dryly,
“religion is flat on its back in , and
has to look up if it looks anywhere!”—
Lewiston Journal.
WMrrin Urmbu awl Irob»Uni Ar* Alik*.
Tliere are many curious points about
crabs and lobsters. Every one of either
gentis is |>rovided with a big claw for
cmstong and a small claw adapted by
its shape for cutting as scissors do.
Witli these two claws they tear tho ford
they capture into fragments and feed
themselves literally from '‘hand to
mouth.” But there is every reason to
suppose that the claws are intended
quite as much for fighting as for eating
purposes, inasmuch as such powerful
I lands are not neobsl for devouring the ,
soft ford they prefer. Interview in
Washington Htar.
At lb* (>ifi**rt.
Man iri the Audience ?to his neigh
bor) Who is tliat at tlie piano?
N'eiglibor Ida Klein.
Inquirer fangrily) Well, dee tine if
you want to, you nngraek/as cad! (Sur
jjdse of quwtioDae.^—Judge.
M*or or QOLn tiLvrn and /JUK\ ron a«n«rtTiatomi»i«ttb
4 OTHCA MATERIAL. jig MND mr ■ALT. ANo
TMi noMTf®t, Simplest iffl rwu«*«« on
6Mentlis’Trial
Kl ICTNtCITV THAN AAV OTMCM. t*""J
JUDD.
On 6 Free Medical Advice and Treatment, during the six months’trial. My
Months"' " improved Electric Belts are Batteries ami belts combined; generates
T Jai "Aurticieiit Electrieity to produce n shock. In ordering, give price of Belts
Inal- (s;t, !*t|. *lO, >|s), waist measure, and full particulars. Agents wanted.
lluttk City, Mon r., Jan. in, ts'.i-.’ Wit bin the last ciirliti-en mouths \ve have taken in over
11,100 for .1 net.i *o Kh-otne 11, Its amt Tni-- mot liave never lia*t a shade eoinplnint. Jolt liavo
hail many oomiilimeiits passed upon tie in. I>. At. NKWBHO DltUO CO.
OR C B. JUDD, Detroit, Mien.
On Both Hides
Not in politics, but of Montgomery Avenue,
Chattanooga, Tenn.
ON TI I BSOUTI I SI 1 >K
We carry everything called for in the GROI’HUY LINK, which our
many patrons can endorse as to quality and price.
on ti i id rsroLtTi i si Did,
At our big establishment wo can supply in any quantity everything
, kept in a feed store.
trSTGIVE US A TRIAL AND WK WILL TRY TO PLEASK.^I
C Men n Brothers.
M. ir. W.VItl), President. W. It. HALL, Vico President, T. li. PIIESTON, Ca-hier
South Chattanooga Savings Bank, •
Con. Market Street and Montoomkry Aye., Ciiatt.vnooo.v, Texn,
PAID IN CAPITAL, *50,000. SURPLUS, $3,000.
I-eTAccouhls Solicited- Interest Paid on Time Deposits. giJ
Directors. —D. Giles, Jno. Thompson, M. 11. Ward, A.Tepenpaw,
Prosper Lazard, D. N. Miller, C. C, Howard, \\. It. Hall, 11. C. Ab
ercrombie, J. 11, Henderson, A. A. Stong, J. A. Wardlaw, T. R.
Preston. (marl7-ly)
HAFLEY’S MUSIC HOUSE.
PIANOS AND ORGANS.
The Cheapest House in the South!
tor Wo wish to call tlio attention of the farmers of Walker county
tliat I buy DI RECT and can knock the bottom out of prices. I’m tho
only music man that deals on the square with tlie people. (I mean 15
Market Square.) “Es ye don’t believe it call and see fur yerself.”
All kinds of Music Books—round and shape notes. Address,
W. O. Hafley.
S|(i (i|*:<)RGIA A VE,CHATTAN<)<><; A.TENN
FORBIDDEN FRUIT
If it is your neighbor’s it may be. But have
your own. Then get
APPLES, PEARS, QUINCES, PEACHES, PLUMS,
From the best nursery in the South,
G- H. MILLER& SONS., ROME, GEORGIA.
They have anything and everything you want. Their agents will
be glad to take your order.
SOPIEIDXJI-JS
— OF THE —
CHATTANOOGA SOUTH I:RN R. R.
“Pigeon Mountain Iloute.”
In effect May Bth, 1892.
| South Bound.] . I North Bouud.|
7. c. 3. l. —Stations.— 2. 4. G. 8.
A. M. I*. M. I'. M. A. M. I*. M. A. M. A. M. I*. M.
‘J 00 5005007 05 Lv Chattanooga Ar 800800 925 720
912 5 12 5 12 7 17 Chattanooga Yards 7 45 744 912 705
927 530 530 732 Flintstone 728 732 858 G4B
934 538 539 739 Durham Junction 7 19 725 849 639
940 544 54G 745 Lisbon 7 11 7 17 841 G3l
949 554 5 55 754 Cooper Heights 703 709 833 G 23
958 GO3 GO3 802 Kensington G 55 701 824 Gls
10 04 0 09 GO9 808 Estelle <5 50 G 55 8 18 GO9
10 isl 8 15 Marsh G 42 G 45 805 GOO
10 22 G 25 G 32 826 Bronco 632 G 37 758 550
10 39 G 43 GSO 844 Harrisburg 0 12 014 735 532
10 54 G 58 705 859 Chelsea 557 557 7 12 517
11 04 708 7 15 909 Menlo 547 543 700 507
11 1G G 15 G2O 922 Chesterfield 5 34 530 G 45 454
11 so 9 3G Jamestown 5 20 4 40
1216 p.m. P.M. 1024 Bristow 435 a.m. a.m. 355
111 1119 Gadsden 3 40 3 00
P.M. A.M. P.M. A.M.
Nos. 1,2, 3 and 4, daily except Sunday. Nos. 5. G. 7 and 8 for
Sunday only.
The fare from flag stations will be for the actual distance
traveled.
Joseph W. Blbke, P. L. Dudley, I. It. \\ allace,
Receiver and Man’g’r. Gen’l Pass. Agt. Superintendent.
7