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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