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GALLAHER'S INDEPENDENT,
PUBLISHED EVERY BATURDAY AT
QUITMAN, GA.,
J. C. G A L L A H E R.
terms op srasc iuption
TWO JWLLARS per Annum in Advance.
VERS DE SOCIETE.
6* GEOROK A. BAKER, JR.
Old coat, for gome throe or four geasons
WeVe boon jolly comrade*, but now
We part, old companion, forever;
To fato and the fashion I bow.
You’d look well enough at a dinner,
I’d wear you with pride at a ball.
But I’m dressing to-night for a wedding—
My own, and you,d not do at all.
You*r® too many wine stain* about you,
Y<m’re stented too much with cigars;
When the gaslight shines full ou your collar
It glitters with myriad stars.
That wouldn’t look woll at my wedding;
They’d soem inappropriate there;
Nell doesn’tlise diamond powder.
She tells me it ruins the hair.
You*ve been out on Coazens’ piazza
Too late, when the? evenings were damp;
When the moon beams were silvering Cro'nest,
And the lights were all out in the camp.
You’ve rested on highly oiled stairways
Too often, when sweet eyes were bright,
And somebody’s ball dress—not Nellie’s—
Flowed round you in rivers of white.
There’s a reprobate looseness about on;
Should I wear you to-night, I believe,
As I came with my bride from the altar,
You,d laugh in your wicked old sleeve,
When you felt there the tremnlous pressure
Of her hand in its delicate glove,
That is telling me shyly,but proudly,
Her trust is as deep as her love.
fto go to your grave in the wardrobe,
And furnish a feast for the moth,
Kell’s glove shall betray its sweet secrets
For younger, more iuuceiit cloth.
*Tis time to put on your successor—
It’s made in a fashion that’s new;
Old coat, I’m afar id it will never
Sot as easily on me as you.
SNOW STAYED.
IN TWO CHAPTKMS. —CHAPTER I.
Iti liia library sat Robert Hilton, en
grossed in bis books. The door opened
very geutly, and there entered a pleaeant
luokiug old lady, enveloped in a crimson
shawl.
•Why, yon here, mother !’ be exclaimed,
rising hastily. ‘1 never expected to see
you at this hour of the morning ;it is
hardly ten o’clock yet, and the day is bit
ter cold, I thought you still in bed. ’
‘I had letters, Robert.’ she replied ns
she took tbe e tsy-chair he placed lor her
near the bright tire.
•I am afraid I disturb you.’she began
nervously, seeing the table spread with
pocks of au abstruse kind.
'Don’t tliink of it ’ Though he answer
ed thus, he wsa rather disco in posed, for
bis passion was Hooks and research of all
kind s; and he pushed the lutir from his
somewhat cure-wora forehead, as he pre
pared to listen to the purport of his moth
er's visit, which, he argued, must b some
thing unusual, to make au iuva id us she
was visit hi in so early.
Referring to her basket, Mrs. Hilton
drew tlience a letter, ami said : From my
old friend, Margaret, Mrs. Cameron,'ami
putting on her spectatiles, she rend aloud.
•Never mind the eoutents,' he interrnp
ted, after she had read the tirst line, judg
ing this by its many predecessors.
‘But, Robert, I want you to hear ; that
is why I came,’ she returned timidly. ‘She
says Helen, her daughter, you know, is
coining, in a few days, to stay at Mould
Farm, quite near ua; and 1 thought it
would look b odd if we did not ask her to
visit ns also, and —I came to consult you,’
she Imitated, ‘I think Margaret will ex
pect it. I know you dislike visitors in the
house, and have grown a confirmed bache
lor,' she sighed ; ‘and I am only a poor in
valid, not fit for much, so we are well
matched and can dispense with visitors.
Still—if you would not mind for this once,’
she pleaded.
Robert Hilton saw trouble looming in
tbe distance us ho listened to his mother’s
hesitating request. It was quite true all
she had said; he was a confirmed old
bachelor forty years old ; and hated the
sight of women, rarely looking on the face
of one bnt his poor old mother. No won
der sbe felt apologetic and doubtful about
he success of her request, as she watched
the nervous, somewhat disjointed-looking
figure of her tall, lean son, whose sunken
eyes hail a troubled expression in them
while he spoke.
•You would never see her but at meal
times,’ she continued, ‘and that only for a
few days, my dear if you wouldn't mind
it. I would not suggest her coming; only,
she is staying so very near, and is such a
nice girl ; so Margaret writes ; though it is
some years now since I saw her; but
then, Robert, that is your fault. ’
‘ln what way ?’
‘The ODly son of his mother, and she
was a widow. That is my history- for years.
I have only lived for you, my dear ;and if
you didn't like visitors, I was content not
to have them, though I should liked to
have seen my old friend Margaret and her
child occasionally.’
'I know you have been very kind to my
infirmities, ’ he replied, and his heart smote
him, as he remembered her life of sacrifice
and heard her timidly pleading for her
small gratification in question. Still, the
power of habit is strong, and it was not
without a great effort he determined to
yield. ‘Very well, ask her over, if you
like,’ he said, with affected carelessness :
‘but only for three or four days, mind,'
and he turned with longing eyes to the
open book which was waiting his perusal.
■Thank you, it is very good of you,’ she
said, quite gratefully as she rose. ‘I will
leave you now, and write to Margaret to
allow Helen to come to ns. ’
‘Only for a few days.’ be reminded, al-
L VOL. 111.
ready regretting his permission ; “other- 1
wise, we may have her here for Weeks, if
you don't specify the time,'
‘I think not,’ returned Mrs. Hilton, wilh
quiet dignity. ‘Margaret is a well-bred
woman, aud her child, no doubt, takes af- :
ter her.’
Tbe o ! d lady then rose aud Robert Hil-!
ton returned to li s studies; and ill tbe so
ciety of some fossil remuius, which served
os the subject of some learned paper lie I
was preparing for one of the magazines, |
be forgot the impending calamity, as his
perverted mind regarded a visitor, and '
that a woman, furthermore u young wo- i
man, in his house,
Several days passed, and one bright
frosty day, in the early part of January, a
party of girls were amusing themselves in
tbe drawing-room of the Monut Farm. ;
Helen Cameron, with her two old friends j
and schoolfellows, Annie aud Clara Noroot,!
formed the trio.
Helen’s best friend could not have called ,
her pretty, while her worst would have [
found it impossible to call her plain, rihe I
was w hat is termed a nice girl, when one
is pushed into a corner for n definition. !
■She was agreeable, good-tempered, could
talk pleasantly on most things, had a very !
fair figure, with u bright intelligent face, j
that refused to be catalogued ns regular
featured ; with a complexion frequently
tinged with deep rose, interspersed with
freckles. Ah, poor Helen I lam afraid
that last hit may tell again it you ; but the I
portrait painter must be faithful- She had,
however, one grand point ; her hair was
beautiful, aud fell in long wavy masses,
like bright spun silk fresh from the cocoon,
caught oil either side by a comb which
confined it to the back of her head ; be
yond this there was no arranging. Nuture
did the rest, with an admirable eye to ef
fect.
A servant entered while they were laugh
ing and talking together, and banded Hel
en a note.
‘From mama’s old friend, Mrs. Hilton,’
she said, as she broke the seal and read
the contents.
‘The Hilton’s of the firs ; the people one
■hears of, but never sees,’ remarked Clara
Nareot.
‘Mrs. Hilton is an invalid, and her son
. a monk, from all accounts,’ chimed in An
| uie, while Helen was perusing her note,
! who soon exclaimed :
| ‘What am Itodo or say ? How shall I
: ever get out of ir ? Mrs, Hillon has writ-
I ten to say, that mama lias accepted an in
vitation for me to sp. ud a few days with
I her, hh I am iti tile heighbOrluHul, m..l -1.0
’ hopes I’ll fix an early day !' she cried with
genuine dismay.
Her announcement was received with a
. “•••■"■" "f groans from the two girls,
‘lt is too bad of mama to accept au in
vitation for me from suoh people. What
wiisshe thinking of ? She might just as
well have asked me to spend a few days
in a church yard as in such a house as
that I’
‘Yes,’ said Clara, with a grimace ; There
is not much amusement to be got out of
that valley of dry bones? Mr. Hilton is u
fossil, my dear ; he has studied pre-Adam
ite man—and what do you call those ugly
things, with hideous long names? —until
he has converted himself into an i ntedilu
viau specimen of an instrument for dig
ging up his own discoveries ! Heaven pre
serve mo from such men ! I like flesh
and blood, not tlie world's progress ma
chine, as I call them. Why people must
be forever rumaging under ground for old
bones and such like, I can’t imagine 1
‘Yon must go, Helen,' said Annie ; ‘if it
is only to keep ns alive with your descrip- j
tion, when you come back.’
‘Well’ only for a couple of days,’ stipu
lated Helen, ruefully, as she sat down to
answer the invitation.
'Of course, only for a collide of days ;we j
couldn’t spare you for longer,’ said Clara ;
‘there’s the ball next wtek, you know.
Just say we will drive you over to-morrow 1
—Tuesday—and will fetch you again on
Friday ; that will give you just two clear
days, which I expect you will find two too ,
many.’
‘The house is worth seeing, I am told,’
broke in Annie. ‘lt is so old-fashioned,
and full of all sorts of queer tilings—re
mains and so forth.'
‘Have you ever seen Mr. Hilton ?’ in- !
qnired Helen.
‘We sometimes, bnt rarely, see him ri
ding about; but he hates women, and flees
at the sight of one—Doesn't he, Clara ?’
‘Agreeable for me,’ murmured Helen, as
she sealed her note, and rang for a servant
to send it to the Firs. ‘I do wish I were
not going ; but there is no help for it, I
suppose. I hope there are no ghosts or
other miseries in the house besides tbe
fossil remains?’ she inquired shivering.
‘Tell me, what is be like, this fossil-in-1
chief, that I may know what I have to ex
pect ?’
‘Oh, tall, lean, and grizzled about the
head; with Bcared-looking eyes, as if they
could only see clearly undegronnd,' said
Clara, with a miscievous twinkle in her
eyeß.
” ‘Why, he is a ghost in himself! I sha'l
be afraid to meet him,’ exclaimed Helen.
‘And he never speaks ; even reads at his
meals, I beleive,’ said Annie with a laugh.
.Worse and worse 1 Oh, girls, wliat am
Itodo ? WTiat an ogre for a woman to be
shut up with.. Does he like music, I won
der? But of course notj’
‘They say music hath charms to soothe
the savage breast; why not see if it will
cause a resurrectiou in the pre-Adamite
one ?’ hazarded one of the girls.
'What! sing to a stone ? Impossible .' I
QUITMAN, GA., FRIDAY, JUNE 4, 1875.
should be too frightened. I must take
lots of work, that’s all ; try and finish this
rug for the bazaar. Dear, how cold it is I’
uud she shivered again.
‘Yes, is it not ?’ said Annie, drawing
nearer to the fire, and giving it a vigorous
poke. ‘There is snow in the air ; aud snow
here is no joke, lot me tell you. It regu
larly barricades us ; we arc such u height.’
‘lf it fell to-uight, the chances are you
could not go to the firs to morrow. There
is no driving a carriage in these parts un
til tlmsuow is over.’
‘I wish it may come down, then,’ said
Helen.
'Don't wish that, us it would put an end
to our ball; so it cuts both ways. You
have no idea how the suow falls here, sev
eral feet deep; and then wo lire shut up
sometimes for weeks. ’
'And a s'oi'tu is brewing,’ said Clara. ,1
hope it will have the good heart to keep
off until the ball is over. I don’t know
when I felt so cold 1’
No snow fell the following day. It. was
iu the air, people remarked, who under
stood the temperature. Amid much laugh
ter among the girls, and misgiving’s on
Helen’s part, she was driven over to the
firs, and deposited among the fossils, with
many injunctions to be careful she, herself,
was not turned into a ‘subject’for investi
gation.
'So very glad to welcome you, my love,’
said old Mrs. Hilton, embracing her. It is
very kind of you to come and see us ;’
aud she drew her to a seat near the fire, in
the grand old drawing room, where she
kept solitary state each afternoon aud even
ing.
The warm embrace and the fire thawed
Helen, aud she begun to feel comfortable.
‘lf the son is ODly half as pleasant as his
mother,’ she thought, T shall not object
to the partial interment. ’
Some conversation followed; blending
with which, Helen’s thoughts flowed in
the following under current : ‘I wonder
if he has the look of his mother? What a
joke if I happen to like him, and turn the
tables on the girls 1 I suppose I shan’t
see him until dinner time, and then ho
will be reading a book. Tall, lean, griz
zled I*—that sounds horrible !'
‘You must excuse my son Robert,’ said
Mrs. Hiiton, wishing to prepare her for
his peculiarities. ‘He is eccentric, my
dear, very; not in the least a lady’s man,
He took to study early in life, and now
lives mi long his books; t must not com
plain, f< >r, as an author, he has distin
guished himself, Still, it disappoints mo
that he shuts himself up so entirely, aim
has lest nil taste for society, for lam only
a poor invalid, and can’t last forever : and
I grow unhappy when I think of him left
alone. ’
Helen then went to her room to prepare
for dinner, Mrs. Hilton’s maid having in
terrupted their chat to show her the way.
Having completed her toilet, she came
down stairs with no slight amount of tuep
idstion, hoping, yet fearing, to find the
much dreaded fossil iu the drawing-room.
Robert Hilton bad entered the drawing
room shortly after Miss Cameron had quit
ted it, having actually dressed for dinner;
a proceeding quite disregarded by him yn
ordinary occasions, for the very good rea
son that he always dined alone, as his
mother was an invalid and could not bear
him company.
Mrs. Hilton looked pleased to see her
sou so wonderfully brightened up by the
little attention to his appearance, at the
trouble aud w aste time of which he had
been inwardly fuming.
•Helen has arrived,’ she said, as he stood
chafing his hands, aud tryiug to warm
them by the fire.
‘So I heard,’ he answered shortly, look
ing anything but delighted. ‘How long
is she to stay ? This sort of thing is so
terribly out of my fine;' and he glanced at
his evening dress us he spoke.
‘She leaves on P'ridav ; the girls at the
Mount Farm won’t spare her any longer.
She is a very dear girl, Robert; I think
you will like her.’ she ventured, timidly.
The remark was entirely lost upon him,
as he never entertained the idea of liking
any woman, unless it might happen to be
the remains of one which hud been depos
ited in some spot by the avalanche of ages
waiting for his discovery. Such a woman
he would love tenderly.
Trembling outside the drawing room
door stood Helen, unable to turn tlie han
dle and enter, so afraid was she of encoun
tering him ; but growing desperate at last,
she made a plunge, aud went in with that
awkward air which takes hold of one at
difficult moments of intense self-conscious
ness,
Still stooping over the fire, he did not
notice her until she reached the sofa where
his mother sat, who had encouraged her
timid entrance with a smile, and said :
‘Robert, my dear, this is Helen—Helen,
my son, Robert.'
This introdudtion being affected, Helen
took a seat, while Mr. Hilton remained
standing, in no way bashful, but so very
preoccupied with dead subjects, as to leave
the living to take care of themselves.
As soon as she dared, Helen ruined her
eyes and glanced at him, ‘Unmistakably
tall, lean, and grizzled,’ she thought, but
not quite so bad as I expected. Good eyes,
if they could be brought to look about him,
instead of into remoteness. Good features,
but tumbled hair, all falling about any
how, as if one ever smoothed it. What a
pity he shuts himself up!’
Dinner was announced, aud Mrs. Hilton
said : ‘Will you let Robert take yon into
dinner, my dear ? You must excuse me
joining yon, but lam obliged to live by
rule. Now, Robert, take care of her.’
Thus saying, she strove to draw them to
gether, a most thankless task, for Helen
hung on to the reluotnnt arm by the tips
of her fingers w ith an amount of nervous
ness which made the well-nigh ehrouio
blush on her face turn deep crimson.
They sat dow to the table iu solemn si
leuoo. Mr. Hilton, from the force of hab
it, turned to find his place in the imagi
nary volume at his side, and then remem
bered he had a human book sitting neurit
might be worth his while perusing. Ho
glanced up, searched for words, and came
to a dead pause; for what oil earth was
there to talk about ? Young women were
a genus lie had never studied since uni
versity days; they were a study he hail
shelved with dress clothes, as being 'ter
ribly out of his line,’ thinking at tbe time
of th<> truth of St. Chrysostom's definition
of women, who pronounces them, one anil
all, to be ‘a necessary evil, a natural temp
tation, a desirable calamity’—here lie
paused, for he declined thinking Unit the
present ‘calamity’ sitting near at all desir
able; quite the reverse—’a domestic peril,
a deadly farcimition, and a painted ill.’
Ah, yes . Chrysostom was a mail of sense
and experience, evidently.
Poor Helen was equally miserable; sipp
ed her soup to prolong the necessity for
keeping her head lowered.
‘One of us must bogiu,’ she thought;
‘this silence is overpowering.'
At last—‘l think you know my feriends,
the N meets ?’
‘Slightly,’ lie replied, puttiug his elbows
ou the table while waiting to be further
fed. Ho was of that rare order of men
who eat, asking no questions, anything
put before them. Just the sort of man
women, with a view to acomfortnb'e here
after in house keeping, ought to cultivate
above all others.
‘They are very nice girls,' she remarked.
’Possibly. I know nothing about girls.'
‘You don’t visit much, I think ?’ she
again ventured.
‘No; I am thankful I find something bet
ter to do,’ and he pushed the uukept hair
from his forehead, aud closed his eyes, ns
if to clear his bruin of the disturbing pos
sibility of such afute, of which tlie pres
ent was a t. ste not at all to his liking.
The servant placed a dish be ore him,
which excused them for again lapsing into
happy silence. Thus the dinner passed j
off, save a few spasmodic attempts at eon- 1
versutiou like the previous. And at the j
finish, never weie two people so glad to '
get rid of each other us Helen Cuiuei'un
and her extraordinary companion.
. M l ' IGho.i did alln.-ar it-:ii11 that,
tnght, although hit usually kept Ills moth
er company for u portion of every evening
after a silent fushi' n.
Helen gave him up us hopeless. She
had failed to win the least courtesy from
him ; and there are few tilings u woman
resents like a tacit avowal that she is pow
erless to attract. The two weary nays,
each worse than the other for dreariness,
came to an end at !a*t. With a light, heart,
she retired to her bed on Thursday night,
and gladly looked forward to the morrow.
*1 ’ll describe him to the girls as the must
impassible monster it. was ever my lot to
become acquainted with. ’ With buoyant
alacrity, she rose next morning, unmind
ful of the cold, which was piercing; slip
ping her feet into a pair of warm slippers,
she went to the window to raise the blinds,
Oh horror I What she had feared from
the ‘feeling’ of the cold night before, was
realized. A deep mantle of snow covered
the ground!
OHArXEB 11.
Helen came clown to breakfast utterly
doleful. She had indulged in a good cry
to begin with ; and now wus filled with
dismay at the prospect before her. On
ente ring the breakfast.room, she found Mr.
Hilton had been waiting for her sometime,
‘1 beg your pardon; lam very sorry to
have kept you so long without your break
fast, ’
Attracted by her despondent tones, lie
looked up with tlie first approach to in
terest he had manifested since her arrival,
and said ; Tam sorry for you, Miss Cam
eron; this snojv will make you a prisoner
for some time, lam afraid;’ and regret
tor himself was not uumiugled with sorrow
for her.
‘Yes; I am dreadfully sorry,’ she return
ed, with a look of blank disappointment in
her face, regardless of the ill compliment
which had actually penetrated Mr. Hil
ton’s pachydermatous sensibility. aud set
him thinking. Now, when a man like
that begins to think, he generally does so
to some purpose The latent chivalry of
this strange being began to awake, anil
tlie mail remembered with self-reproach
that he had done nothing as a host, to
merit any other than the cv.ndid avowul he
had just heard. •
■J am sure I don't know what I shall do,’
she moaned, as she stood irresolute by the
fire, too genuinely miserable to bo polite.
‘Well, come and try some breakfast, and
then we must see what can be done to pre
serve life in you afterwards,’ ho said, with
something like a smile shining on his face,
the first she had ever seen.
Asa gleam of sunshine attracts on a
gloomy day, so did this smile attract
Helen, and caused her to regard him with
surprise.
He caught the look, arid asked its mean
ing in such a friendly voice, that she said
with simple bluntness : ‘I saw you smile;
I didn’t think you could !’
The smile widened into a laugh, not
withstanding the unintended sarcasm,
which he was conscious he deserved; the
snow was failing outside, while within, tlie
first symptoms of a thaw had begun 1
He, strange to gay, was the first to be
aware of it, us ho glanced every now und
then at the woebegone face sitting near.
•Is it true,’she faltered, ‘that the suow
does not clear away for weeks ?’
‘Quite true.’
,Oh, dear ! what shall Ido?’ she sighed.
We must try and make the best of it for
you,’ he answered, kindly. ‘I know this
must be a dreadful dull bole for a young
lady to be shut up in, with only a couple
of old people, like my mother and myself,
for company ; but lam afraid there is no
held for it.’
‘Are you loud of reading ?' he asked af-
ter a pause. ‘I have some good books,
but not in your style, I am afraid-’
'I am afraid not. You are very learned
and clever, are you not?’ she asked, with
amusing simplicity, her eyes opening as
she made the inquiry, as though trending
on unknown and dangerous ground. 'The
girls, the Nareots, told me so, that made
me rather afraid of you, and funey— ’
‘I couldn’t laugh, and Had forgotten how
to smile,’he interposed. 'Well don’t be
frightened any more, for lam neither
learned nor clever, that 1 know of ; and I
beleive I can smile when provoked to do
so ;<mly living so mnqh to jnysclf, I sel
dom get an opportunity.’
’But that is your own fault, is it not?
You hate tis—us—women; I mean, don’t
you ?So the Nareot girls told me. Is it
true ?”
‘Partly ;’ and he pushed his plate away
ns In' spoke, and resumed his favorite at
titude, with his elbows on the table ; then,
us it reflecting, he added in a lower tone :
'Still I believe I am capable of con version,
only uo one has ever tried it.’
'Perhaps you never gave them s ohance, ’
she said, with a bright laugh, which dis
placed the cloud of melancholy for a mo
ment, ns slio went to the windo- to see if
she could discern signs of relenting ou the
part ol her cruel jailor outside.
Mr. Hilton, meanwhile, was revolving
her last words in his mind, us he played
with Ihe bread-crumbs, saying to himself
that she had spoken lightly ; and when a
woman Inis had the luck to drive a truth
intp a man’s mind, which he is willing to
acknowledge, she has certainly gained a
point.
On other mornings, lie generally disap
peared as soqn|as breakfustjwus over, mid
never showed again until summoned to an
other nieid ; but this morning liesat on and
■in, even after the cloth was removed, and
the distraction of arranging the crumbs in
to mathematical problems had been taken
flh m him.
His train of thoughts evidently lay above
ground this morning. ‘This girl would be
ill* the house for weeks;’ and lie caught
himself looking at her as she gazed hope
lessly out of the window ; and then this
thought, at one time so repugnant, grew j
not altogether distasteful, although, of
course, there would he a vast amount of
inconvenience attending it, which he was
forced to admit. It was a-bad business on
the whole, certainly, and lie would have
preferred if the snow lmd not fallen. But
here she wus ; and she must make the best
of it, and be thankful that, as far as wo
men went, she was endurable after her
kind, was uuobtrusive ut least, and would
evidently rather not be staying ; under
these ciicumstanceshe must make an ef
fort.
Helen left the window and look an ensy
eliair by the lire, resigning herself to the
hopelessness of her situation, wondering
when on earth Mr. Hilton mpunt to go,
when lie surprised her by turning his chair
right round in front of the fire, and en
sconced himself in it nsr if to.take up his
cushion l’or the morning.
A quarter of an hour passed during
which time they both looked hard at the
said : ‘Please, Mr. Hilton, don’t sit there
all day and do manners on my account. I
Hindi go tip to uiy room if you do. If Inm
to he a prisoner here for some time, don’t
add t my affliction by making tint feel I
am a trouble to you. I know you are al
ways bard at work by this time. Indeed,
it is on my conscience that I interrupted
your studies at meal-times, as the Nareots
told me yon always read at such times. ’
‘I urn afraid the Nareots have not given
mo a good character ; paying me out lor
all iny incivilities, I suppose. You might,
however, give me an opportunity of prov
ing them mistaken. ’
‘Yes ; lint I cannot hoar disturbing the
routine of any one’s daily life, I feel as
if they must look upon me as such a bore,
au unenviable distinction at best.’
‘But suppose I tell yon, you don’t bore
me,’ he answered with a smile.
‘I shouldn’t believe yon, I am afraid.
The leopard can’t change his skill or lii
spots; which is it ?’ lam so stupid over
quotations. No ;it is the Ethiopian who
has the skin.’
‘But as I am neither Ethiopian nor leo
pard, but belonging tothaCaucassianraoe
of the genus homo, I may be permitted to
change that mercurial organism existing in
our species, called mind. Without wish
ing to pay you any compliment, I desire
to say that that I should be glad to make
your enforced imprisonment in my house
less doleful than you at present contem
plate. If you can stigge t any course of
amusement you would like to pursue, in
which I can assist you, I will forego my
books while you are here, and—place my
time at your disposal.’
The last sentence came out with an ef
fort which showed the immensity of the
sacrifice. Helen looked incredulous, ‘Do
you really mean it ?’ she asked.
‘I am perfectly in earnest.’
‘Then, I know what Iwould like.’
‘Wliat ?’ lie inquired, with a nervous
pang ; he knew not what wild prank he
had pledged himself to.
‘You shall impart some of that won
derful learning of yours into my unfur
nished brain. I have so long wanted to
read Goethe in the original, but I don’t
know German sufficiently. Mrs. Hilton
tells me you know Goethe and German,
and everybody and everything, alive and
dead, by heart. Will vou teach me Ger
man ?’
‘Has my poor mother been giving me a
hud character like the rest of the world ;
with more cause, perhaps ;’ and he looked
into the fire without answering her ques
tion.
•But you really are a Gorman scbolur—
are you not ?’
‘Yes; I will teach yon.’
‘Oh, If yon will, I’ll think you the kind
est creature in the world ; aud won’t regret
the snow.’ she added, archly. ‘Then, while
lam studying, you can go on with your
reading ami writing, can’t you ? and you
won’t find me so dreadfully iu the way,
will yon ?’
His face wore an amused look as be lis
tened to her eager questions. ‘So you
want to read Goethe iu the original. Well,
you roust follow me; but. remember, I
shall expect to be paid for my trouble.’
‘How V’
‘By being thought the kindest creature
in the world ; a decided novelty
for me. Now, come into aty library, and
I will start you at once.’
•Oh, not in there !’ and she drew back.
‘I should he frightened to go in there. I
hear you keep the hones of Noali and all
the animals that went with him into the
ark—to say uotiiiug of those he left out
side—iu there.’
■But if I am to have a pupil. I must sil
pei intend tli6 otudy’’ he answered, laugh
ing ; ‘und 1 promise Nuuli shall not put in
an appearance, or in any way disturb your
peace of mind ;so follow me. You have
never seen my library, have you ?’
‘No.’
‘Then don’t speak against such a haven
of rest, of which you are ignorant.’
’Wliat would the Nareot girls sny, if
they could only see us ?’ she thought, us
she billowed him ou lip-toe, not quite cer
tain, hilt determined to he brave.
“Oh, how very charming!” she exclaim
ed, as slip surveyed tile comfortable book
lined room, with its curved oak ceiling, its
luxurious Persian rugs its inviting easy
eluiirs, mid massive double writing-table,
the whole made intersely snug by tbe
glow of a bright crackling wood-fire.
•‘No signs of such a damp creature as
Noah here,” he said, as lie placed a chair
lor her at the writing-table, aud rapidly
looked out the requisite books, that lie
might find out how much she did not
know, before setting her to work.
Through a fog of timidity, she managed
to let him see she was fairly advanced,
und then lie set her some translation to do,
himself taking a bonk the while to mad.
The translation was effected, and pushed
across the table for correction. Ho then
gave her some other work to do, which j
kept her for two hours iu the library,
when she left him to seek his mother.
“I am so sorry for you, my love,” said
Mrs Hilton, kissing her, “but glad for
myself. This snow will keep you with us
fur some time. 1 hope you don’t mind?”
And Helen was surprisen to Und she did
not mind the gloomy prospect so much as
she expected. The thought of reading
Goethe in the original was cheering. So
she said:
“Of course, I don’t miml; only you
must give me something to do. Here;
can’t I finish these?” And she took a
pair of wool slippers from a work-basket.
“Oh, thank yon, my dear! if you will;
they are for Robert; but they puzzle my
poo, sight so much, I have been obliged
to leave them.”
So between the German leßsons and the
slipper, the days sped faster than she ex
pected. Even 4bo meals were growing
positively agreeable since her better un
derstanding with the master of the house.
Ever since the German lessons had been
begun, he had spent his evenings in the
drawing-room, aud Helen, overcoming her
nervousness, regarded him by singing.
“We owe the suow a debt of gratitude,”
said Mrs. Hilton, one evening, after Helen
ceased singing. “Do we not, dear?” she
said, addressing her son.
Mr, Hilton didn’t reply,for lie was expe
riencing anew sensation; one he had not
felt for veals, since those old Oxford days,
when a pretty girl, to whom he had been
devoted, jilted him, and made him almost
despise tier sex, vow ing never more, if he
could help it, to look ou the fnoe of any
woman, save his mother; a vow he might
have kept religiously to the end of his
days, hut for this fall of snow. Now,
circumstances were leagued against him.
What vows or resolutions could stand
against teiieking a “nice” girl every day
for two hours; having the same “nice”
tneal; and, more than all, the same "nice"
girl singing, as she did, evening after
eveing, the most divine little melodies in
the most sympathetic manner! St An
thony himself must have given In under
such a cross-fire of allurements!
He lmd felt the spell growing gradually,
until, at the end of the third week, he
stood face to face with the truth, and
knew he was a conquered man. She stood
between him and his most cherished books
and researches, and then he remembered
with pain that hi i youth was all gone, aud
he lmd only the tall, lean, grizzled rem
nants of a mun to oiler this bright girl,
beaming with youth anil life; aud the
knowledge well uigh proved overwhelm
ing. During the lesson hours, he was
calm and undemonstrative enough;
hut when they were over, and she was
gone, there ensued a strange feeling of
desolation.
Soon the weather showed signs of re
lenting. About a week later, Helen re
marked, looking at the suow: “You will
soon get rid of me now.”
“You will be better pleased to go than
we are to lose you” lie returned, dolefully.
“I don’t know. 1 shall he sorry to
leave the German lessons behind. What
a lmppy thought that was of mine!” she
exclaimed.
“I am not so sure of that.”
“Why? You mean they have inter
rupted you so dreadfully!”
"Yes;" and he h ft the room.
She was purposely late at dinner that
day, having gone into the library to fetch
the book that lay open on bis table, which
she brought, mid placed open, without a
word, at his side.
“There! I am not going to open my
lips to you all dinner-time. I know I
have been a dreadful interruption,”
He looked at her reproachfully—ten
derly, as lie closed the book without a
word.
She read the look, and grew embarrass
ed. The dinner passed off iu silence.
She said nothing to Mr. and Mrs. Hil
ton that day, but the next morning ut
breakfast she remarked to the former: “I
am coming to yon for one more German
lesson, if you will be troubled to give it
me. ”
His hand trembled. Fatal sign in a
man! He may be confidently given up
fir lost when that symptom appears. His
hand trembled and Helen saw it.
As he made uo reply, she said: “May I
come?"
“You know your way," lie answered,
impatiently, sigbiug, and soon after left
the room, his face having grown many
shades paler since her first question.
Half aud hour later, she found him in
the library, looking utterly miserable.
“Wliat is the matter?” she inquired, as
site stood beside him.
His heart was in bis eyes ns lie looked
up, with no gaze, as if searching into the
dead past, but a broad, open, <arnest look
into the future, as lie said: “I think I am
almost sorry the time Ims come for you to
go. 1 liuvo grown fond of teaching. I
wish you would stay a little longer, and
let mo try to teach yon one thing more;”
and here one arm stole timidly, round
Helen, who forgot to resent the liberty!
“What is that?”
“To love me a little,” he whispered, iu
a voice choked with emotion, which be
trayed how hopeless he felt the request,
but which now meant everything to him.
“Impossible!” she murjmured, shaking
her head.
”1 feared so!” he said, despomliDgly."
“Do you know why?” she asked, look
ing up in his face.
“Why?”
‘ Because 1 have learned that lesson al
ready, and it quite by heart.”
The German fared bady that day, M
they sat together and conned over another
lesson, the same in all languages, the tru
est and the most blessed they or any one
could leurn.
“Oh, wlmt will the Nareots say! she ex*
claimed. “How they wilt tense mel” and
she gave him their letter to read, crier
which ho laughed heartily,
Tell them, notin atone change tout cPa 4
and that you have dog up the (fid fossil,-
ami placed him in the best museum attjf
man can have—a woman’s loving heart/
where be hopes to remain foreverl”
"But- Mist/, t don’t tliink, after all, yotf
could have been a proper, decent kind Of
i fossil, yon know," she said, archly,
j “Why?”
!‘Because I found you so near the snr
; face; and it was not such very hard work
digging you out,” she added, with a bright
I provoking laugh, “for you were only
! buried nmlfr a full of enow!"
“Oh! Please Don’t Drink Any More!”—A
Woman’s Appeal.
Yuli will bring ruin on yourself and iu
noceut children. Your poor heart-broken
wife pleads with you to "drink uo more."
Your bright und beautiful little prattlera
know not the evil in store for them if you
continue to indulge your thirst for drink.
They follow yon to fhe door ns yon part
with them in the morning, and, in guile--
less confidence, watch your departing foot
steps. They hasten to meet you on y,.ur
return in the evening, to welcome *you
back When sober anil cheerful, you till
their little hearts with joy. When drink
ing aud morose, their hearts are made sad J
whilst sorrow for their pa takes the place
of gladness. The mother pressing closely
the half-abandoned children to her breast
|is unable to suppress her grief. Her hus
band, no longer worthy the name, has been l
spending the money which is needed to
supply their wants; whilst his staggering
about on the streets and sidewalks hastens
the loss of public confidence and takes
from him the means of making a support.
“O, please don’t drink no more.” Dot
your wife know; let your friends know,
aud let the world know that you will drink
no more. Be at your counting-house, or
place of business betimes, and let no>
temptation to evil lure you off from tlie
faithful performance of your duty. Take
warning from your grief-Btricken wife,
aud heed her appeal to drink no more.
Pay heed to your sorrowing friends and
acquaintances, who see in your intemper
ate habits the blight und ruin it will bring
upon your now innocent and helpless off
spriug. Look at flic wife of your bosom—
the pulid cheek; the wasted form, and'
sunken eye, and, hear' iu her plaintive
wailings the appeals of a despairing aud
breaking heart. Look that you may see'
the blight that your drunkenness is bring-'-
ing upon her, and hear, that you im*y
have courage to drink ho more.
Venders of drink—traffickers in liqnois,
rend the above picture, and at once suit
forever sell no 1 more.
Take a dagger and stab to death the'
wife of the drunkard; place speedily lir
untimely graves her innocent und helpless
offspring rather than, by degrees, through
selling driwk la the father, commit murder
as certain uud sure.
O close up your haunts of dissipation;
cast from you the murderous temptatii ut
and tempt men uo more.
.—.—.—.—
A Streak of Lack.
In 1862' Dr. I’, A. Heitz, now in this
city, liv 'd in Paris, Monroe county, and
owned property there which ho was very
anxious to trade or sell. A man ap
proached him one day and made him an
offei. He proposed to trade the doctor
eight JruiulmU aci'bf. qf_. l3<>d -in..l lent
no use fur tlie doctor to see the land as
the stranger represented it about ns bad as
!t could be, but still it was eight hundred
acres of land, and’ the ownership of it
would make the owner a very respectable
landed proprietor, and whatever it lacked
in quality was made up in quantity.
“Good!” said the doctor. "Givo mo a
SIOO to boot and it’s a trude.”
“Agreed," said the stranger, and that
titles were exchanged and all the nicest
requirrnents of the law fulfilled, securing
each in the possession of the property
that hud belonged to the other.
The doctor still owns the Dent county
land, and has yet never seen it; Vut ho
has the best of evidence iu the world that
it is still there, as a party a few days ago
offered him 850.000 for eighty acres of it;
and now he gets u letter from the surveyor
of Dent county, tolling him it is worth at
least 8100,000, and not to sell it for I--*
than that. Adjoining tho land is an iron
smelting furnace, and em the land is it
small mountain of solid iron ore, ninety
per cent, of which is pure iron. It it*
better to be born lucky than rich.
His Honor Sets a Trap.
"And this is William Spinner, eh?” in
quired His Honor of a brick-hair- >1
young mun whose hack was covered with
mud.
“Yes, sir.”
“They found yon in an alley; it was
night; yon were drunk; when they Intuit*!
you out you was as ugly and pompous ns
the King of the Cannibal Islands. Isu t
this true?”
’ It was my birthday, and I suppose I
took a glass too much,” replied the pris
oner. “It’s the lust time, however; yen
will never see me agnin.”
“Let’s see—haven’t you an old mother
to support?”
“Yes —yes, sir. She’s a good old lady,
aud she’ll feel badly about this.”
“And you have to support two or three
young sisters?”
“Yes, three of them—poor little girls.”
His Honor removed his spectacles,
wiped the apple on his coat-sleeve, smiled
blandly and remarked:
“What an awful liarl Why, man, I
know all about yon! You are one of the
greatest loafers iu Detroit, and I don’t be
lieve yon have a relate ri on earth 1"
The prisoner cast his eyes down and
could make no reply.
"i’ll mark you down for sixty day,”
continued the Court; “that’s thirty days
iu which to get you washed up aud thirty
more to get acquainted with yourself.”—
Detroit Free Prune.
Discovery of Another Mammoth Skel
eton.
The discovery of another mammoth skel
eton at Otisville, Orange county, Now
York, on the Erio Railroad, is the sensa
tion of the hour among scient.sts and won
der lovers. This is the sixth skeleton of
the mastodon that has been exhumed from
the muck beds of the county, and in many
respects the finest—though not yet com
plete. Tho tusks have not yet been dis
covered, but may be expected to reward
further excavation. Tbe size of the mon
ster of which these hones are the remaius
may he imagined from the fact that a tall
man may stand within tne pelvic arch and
with arms outstretched barely touch the
sides at their widest span. The weight of
this single bone is nearly half a ton. and so
many of the pavts as have been found
weighed 1,760 pounds. The skeleton baa
been secured for the New Haven Museum
! by Professor Marsh, who w 11 set up and
| complete the osseous structure as the dis
| coveries are completed.
NO. .5