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GALUHER'S INDEPENDENT,
PUBLISHED EVERY SATURDAY AT
iUITMAN, GA.,
J. C. GALLAHER.
TKRMii OP SUBSCRIPTION*
TWO DOLI+ARS per Annum in Advance.
AS ANNIVERSARY.
In & chamber old and oaken,
• In a faint and faltering way.
Half a dozen words were spoken,
Jaat eleven years to-day.
What was bound and what wma broken,
Let a woman a oonMiflais aaj.
Half a dozen word* excited,
Whispered by a lover’s aide;
Half delighted, half affrighted.
Half in pleasure, half in pride;
And a maiden'* troth ia plighted,
And a false love knot ia tied.
Has a maiden not a feeling
That can awell, and sing and soar?
Came uot o’er her apirit stealing
Thoughts of things that were before?
In her heart did no revealing
Tell her love wan something more?
Barely half a dozen glance*,,
Half in earnest, half in mirth—
Five or *ix or seven dance*—
What is such a-wooing worth?
Cottrtahip in which no romance ife,
Cannot give a true love birth.
Passion in a pain and power
Slowly growing unto might,
By long vigils, not the hour;
Real love i not at sight;
Ti* a wood; *tia not a flower
That arises in a night.
Lightly is the promise spoken,
Lightly ia the love knot tied;
And the maid redeems the token,
Living at her husband’s side;
And her heart- it is not broken.
But it is uot in its pride.
With the years shall come a feeling,
Never may be, fell before;
Bhe shall find her heart concealing
Wants it did uot know trf yore;
Silently the truth revealing,
Real love is something more.
[ CJiftnUnr, t Journal.
(From the Star Spangled Banner.
HI GH ALLAN'S HEIR 5
08,
The Bride of South-Ridge.
BY ARTHUR L. MRSKHVR.
CHAPTER I.
THIS FCOgLB OF TH E OiUXOE.
B mth-Iti.lge Tens n gfraud old place. TU
house or grange, u it was culled, stood oh
the summit of a gentle eminence, mid nvrav
on either side, stretched the broad acres ap-
tu the estate.
HT** nice ly cultivated Reids, and
tn< rt J httig reaches of woodland, covered
witii the primeval
On one side, at the foot of the <*tniu**m e.
lay a beantifnl lake, its Mttrfm** dotted with
litany green Ulnrids, which lay like so many
emerald gerns upon iU bosom.
A /hirer domain there wan not to bo
found within the broad borders of the
biute. The bouse itself was grand and
imposing. A broad verauder ran about oti
either side, from which st any point a
mo*t beautiful view was to be obtained.
Witlnn, the rooms were high and lofty,
and furnished with uli that wealth and
taste could suggest.
The owners of South-Ridge had always
heen blessed with plenty of this world's
Roods. The founder of the house had
brought from the mother country plenty
of wealth, und this had been husbanded
frugally by all Lis successors, although
there had been nothing niggardly about
them.
Each and all had Striven to make South-
Ridge Orange the most attractive of any
|dace in all that region of country, and in
thi% they hod succeeded beyond a doubt.
So much for the Grange and its sur
roundings, and now let us introduce to
the reader its iumates at the time our sto
ry opens.
It* owner, Hugh Allan, was a man some
what past the prime of life, yet his form
was still unbent, and his hair hardly sil
vered by the hand of time. *
The only change that the fleeting years
seem to have made in him was upon bis
face.
Here there were deep wrinkles and
marks of care, the fruits, maybe, of deep
emotion.
People who knew him well had marked
them there for the lost ten years.
There were those who said that they
had set thetr seal in one short week of
time. '
A great cross had come to him then ;
such a cross as but few people are requir
ed to bear iu this world.
His son, his only child, had boen lost to
fcim.
Bet it was not Heath who was the rob,
ber.
He could have born tflat, have submit
. dto that which was inevitable with as
good grace as thousands of other who lose
near and dear friends, but this cose was
different.
For aught that he knew his son was
still alive.
Yet be was as dead to him as though be
had mouldered in the grave for ten years
past
He had committed a crime for which he
had been obliged to flee and hide from
the face of men to save his life, which he
bad forfeited by bis act.
He had been accused of murder, and
the proof was so great against bias that
there was no earthly hope that he could
make his innocence manifest.
Still he had stoutly declared that he
was not guilty.
But there were none who believed that
be spoke the truth.
The evidence aginst him was too strong.
fallal )tf§ Inbepetubeni
Y r OL. 111.
Even hh> father believed him guilty.
It was this terrible trial which had
brought the wrinkles upon hia face, and
made him look so old beyond hia time.
Stern justice, he felt, would have sent
his son to the gallows ; but this he could
not do. Hia own flesh and blood must be
saved, If possible, this disgruco.
Therefore he had connived at his escape,
and by extreme good fortune hud got him
out of the country. .
Since he had bee 1 assured of this, no
living soul had ever heard him uieutiou
his son's name.
From him oue would never have known
but what he hud been childless ull his
life.
Friends le had but few. He was not a
man, in these days, who would attract peo
ple to him. Those olj oucs who still lived
near by, revor mentioned his sou's name
to him. There was not one of them who
had the courage to do it It would prob
ably have hoeu an end to ail further inter
course between them.
Thus it was that the days of Hugh Al
lan's life came and went
(July one other inmate was there of the
Orange, save the servants.
This was a distant relative, Dora Adams.
His wife hud died before the great dis
grace was brought upon the family, and
thus she had been spared the blow which
with a terrible torture would have wrung
her life Jioiu her.
Soon after her death, Dorn Adams, then
a mere child, had come to Soutli-Kidgc to'
live. She wits an orphan, the child of a
eousin of Hugh Allan's and she came to
him penniless.
But he had enongh.for himself and her,
and when his son was the same as dead to
him, he turned to the child for ail the con
solation he could hope for in this world.
As the years went on, lie regarded her
as his own.
Had he indeed been her father, lie could
not havo been kinder to her.
He made his will iu her favor, and, al
though the fact was uot generally known,
yet it was shrewdly surmised that she was
to lie the heiress of South. Ridge.
People said that if the outcast was liv
ing, aad Hugh Allan knew of his wherea
bouts, uot a dollar of lus wealth would ov
-r g to '..im,
And they w, re right Hugh Allan did
uot know the fate of ids sou. He might
lie living, or he might he dead. At any
rate lie was dead to him forever.
At tiio time our story opens, Dora Ad
ams was a beautiful nouian. None of the
many fair ladies of that seetion eclipsed
her. She was the acknowledged I>v!!i and
beauty of all that region of eoiflitry.
Suitors she had in scores, but as yet her
heart was free. None had managed to
win Iter bes** from her own keeping.
Hugh Allan gall filed her jealously. He
wished to keep Ipr to himself, until at
least the time should come when a man
should seek her who in his estimation was
worthy of her. Many there were in her
train who were her equals iu weultli and
position, but he saw no one to whom he
f*'lt that he c.stld confide her.
It might be that he was selfish, and
wished to keep her by him while he lived.
CHAPTER 11,
THE PROFESSOR.
One day there was an arrival at South
liidgc.
A stranger made his appearance at the
Orange, and demanded to see ita owner.
Hugh Allan was busy in his study, hut
be gave orders for the stranger to be ad
mitted.
The servant showed him iu, and he arose
to receive a gentleman who by his looks
seemed to be a foreigner.
The strauger introduced himself as Oarl
Batch, and asked leave to present to him
a letter of of which he was
the tiearer.
Hugh Allan took the missive, and, open
ing it, slowly perused its contents.
It waa from aud old friend and school
mate of his, who had made a German town
his home for many years.
It begged leave to introduce to the kind
attention of his friend, Prof, Batch, of the
celebrated university of his adopted town.
He was about paying a visit to America
on a tour of observatfjh aud to add wlmt
he could tA his knowledge of geology, and
he had decided to pejd some weeks in
his immediate neighborhood, in the fur
therance of that object, in accordance with
his recommendation.
Two reasons decided Hugh Allan to rr.
ceive the strancrer cordially, aside from his
own gentlemanly instincts.
One was that he would do anything iB
reason to oblige his old friend ; and the
other, that he was interested in the same
pursuit himself.
Geology had always possessed a charm
for him, and he was quite well posted for
one who had not made it the study of a
life.
ft was not long before he and the stran
ger were on the best of terms. They
read and talked, rode and walked, togeth
er, aud Hugh Allan found himself taking
more interest in his loved pursuit than
he had ever done before.
As well posted as he was,he felt that he
knew really nothing when it was put into
tne scales and weighed with that of his
new acquaintance.
People about South-Ridge wondered
why it was that he opened bia house to the
stranger, and was seen so much in bis
company.
And well they might, for it was some-
QUITMAN, (IA., FRIDAY, JUNE 18, 1875.
| thing unusual for him to do.
Dora Adams, too, became very much in
terested in him.
1 She, too, was with him a great deal, and
; seemed to take a wonderful interest iu his
j pursuit.
Wheu Hugh Allau was indisposed to nc
j company lam, or something made it in
! convenient for him to do so, she took his
place.
Ere long it came to be whispered that
j she was more interested in the mau than
| she was in his calling.
But it might have been envious people
I who said this.
There were plenty of followers in her
j trniu who wore jealous of her evident pur
j tiality for the professor.
Whether or no she regarded him in the
j light of a lover was known only to herself.
As yet it was certiviu that she hud made
j no one her ionfldaut.
They could only surmise the state of her
pelings towards the guest at South-Bulge.
Perhaps what her feeliugs were as yet
hardly known to herself.
That she admired the professor she was
w illing to admit.
Had she been accused of loving him,
she would have discovered the fact.
Oue day it chanced that some business
| connected with the estate kept the owner
of South-Ridge at home to consult with
! his lawyer, who had come to the Orange
I without uuy notice of his intention to do
so.
He had planned a trip with his guest to
j some rocks at a point several miles away,
I and now lie was disappointed in uot being
I able to accompany him.
Dora was solicited to take his place as
! guide, and she at once consented.
Her favorite black steed was brought
round, and, mounting, she rode beside her
| escort, who was also mounted on a flue
charger.
The couple rode briskly away, down
! over the hill, across the bridge that
spanned the stream, and tbumgh the busy
] little villuge that lay thereon, with its mn
j ny clattering wheels, they dashed, Dora as
; guide, a little in advance.
I In duo time the place of their destinn
j tion was reached. Leaving their horses,
j they clambered up Over the rocks, and set
, about the work 00 which they had come,
Au hour passed in this manner, and
they seated I lien selves iu u spot sheltered
| from the rays of the sun, to rest from the
, fatigue they felt after their scramble over
! the rocks.
From one subject to another Ilia conver
sation glided afoug, until at last it eumo to
H ugh Allan, and the (mat history of Bontn-
Kidge.
“Ho lias a son, I believe ? " said the
Professor carelessly, wife his eyes fixed
upou a specimen lying beside him which
be hud hammered from the rocks.
l)*i glanced up quickly.
1 “Why do you ask the question ?" she
said evasively.
“I have heard so. My friend told me
something about the sud affair before I
| left home."
“You have never mentioned it to Mr.
: Allan ?”
•'No. Of course I would uot do that. I
! should say nothing to him on the subject
; unless be spoke first.”
“I would not do so. If you know the
whole history of that terrible nifair, you
I can imagine how he feels. Although lam
j the same as a daughter to him, he never
| spoke his name to me. From him I never
! learned that he had a sou, but from oth
j ers I have learned the terrible story."
"No clue has ever been had which
might go to show thut his sou might have
| been innocent?”
Asdic aaid this, the Professor rawed bis
eyes to hor face with a strangely wistful
! look.
No. If the story was true, how could
j there be ? There was proof that he and
i his victim had quarreled ; proof that
| could not be denied. Then he was found
| staudiug shove the body of the murdered
man, in the breast of whom his own knife
was found He denied the deed, aud said
! that he hud only that moment arrived at
' the spot.. Yet he could not prove bis in
| uoceuce. Everybody was sure tlmt lie did
! the deed—his own father among the rest,
iHe contrived his escape, and since that
moment Ido not think that he has ever
j heard from him, and knows not whether
jho is living or dead. If he does lie has
| kept the secret to himself. There is none
J with whom he has shared it.”
“And lie never speaks of him ?”
“I do not thiuk tlmt bis name has pass
; ed liis lips since that fatal hour. ”
“It is a sad case,” said the Professor,
\ musingly.
“In truth it is. People sav that Hugh
! Allan is not the man that he was before
! tiie event which threw such a cloud over
| his whole life. I can wel* beleivn that he
!is not. It was enough to change any mau,
j though he be made of Iron. ”
“l'on are right. It was a terrible thing,
i For his sake, and the sake of his sou if he
: be living, I wish that the latter's innocence
might be proved. What a weight it would
lift from his heart if it conld be done.”
“Yes, but that seems impossible. He
must bear the burden to hie dying day.”
The Professor said no more, and the
conversation was changed to another sub
ject.
An hour later and they were on their
way homeward. The grounds of South-
Ridge were almost readied, when a woman '
darted wildly out from a cottage by the |
way-side.
For the love of Heaven come in, Miss 1
Dora,” she cried." “My husband ia dy
ing. He lias sent for Master Hugh.
There ia something upon hia mind which
he Bays he must tell before he dies. Come
in. It may be that you can do something
for him."
CHAPTEK 111.
AT THE HEX) OP DEATH.
Dismounting, they followed her into the
cabin, and to the bedside of the sick man.
It needed ouly one glauce on their part
to allow them that he was dying.
Ho glanced up eagerly at them, and
then a di 'appointed look mingled with the
one of agony upon hia countenance.
“It is not Hugh Allan 1” he cried.
“Why do yon not bring him here? I can
not die until 1 tell him the secret which
has made a place of torment of my heart
for so many years. Why is it that he does
not come ?"
“Can you uot confide it to mo ?"
said the Professor, eagerly, as ho bent
above the dying man. “Speak. It may
be too late when becomes.”
“No, no—l must tell it to him. I can
not die until I have told him. No one
could take my life until T have spoken.
Bring him here—bring him here 1”
At that moment the door of tiro cottage
opened, and Hugh Allau, followed by his
lawyer, whom the messenger had found
still with him, entered the apartment.
The dying man saw and recognised them
at once.
“Hugh Allau, 1 am glad you have
come,” he said, "and that you have
brought the lawyer with you. I want him
to write down what 1 have to say. I iun
dying, and what I have to tell must be
told quickly.”
“Not so bad us that, I hope, Tom,” an.
swered Mr. Allan in an encouraging tone.
“\\ hy did you not semi to mo that you
was sick ? But we will try to get you up
again even now.”
“I am dying, Sir Hugh. I know that
you call see it as well as the others. But
1 cannot die until 1 have confessed a terri
ble crime, and a crime against you, be
sides you, who have always treated me
so well, Hugh Alan, year son ir.js inno
cent. It tens I win) took the life of Richurd
ntiten."
For a moment Hugh Allan stood as
though ho was made of stone. Then ho
sprang forward with a hand outstretched
as though lie would clutch the dying man
by Hie throat.
This he would have dot)'’, had 'not !’...
Professor held him hack.
“Do lH'tu no violence,” lie arid, in a
tone which trembled with emotion. “Don’t
you see that he is fust going? Let him
speak while he may, and let the lawyer
take down his confession.”
I “Speak !” said the injured father, iu a
! terrible tone. "You have the blood of
two upon your soul. No wonder that you
■ could not die and carry your guilty secret
aith you. ”
Ah though he lmd heard nothing of this
j the dying mini weut on :
“Yes, Sir Hugh, it was I who was the
j murderer, f struck tin* fatal blow with a
| knife which J hod stolen from your son. I
| did the deed for the money I knew he had
j about him ; but I did not get it. Your
i non Ralph happened to come to the spot.
1 I heard his footsteps, ami fled. He did
I not see me, aud so the guilt was fastened
1 upon him.
A great many times I was tempted to
spesk, aud to meet the penalty of my
crimes. I should have done so; lmd he
been brought to the scaffold ; but lie made
his escape, and so I was silent. My life
has been one of torment, but now it is
ended. ”
These were the last words the dying
I murderer uttered. There was one convul
sive struggle and the spirit parted from the
I body, and then all was over.
; For the space of a moment Hugh Allan
stood motionless, gazing upon the dead
j man. Nut a sound was heard im the room
| save the scratching of the lawyer’s pen, as
ihe wrote down the confession, and the
sobs of llie man’s wife.
Dora Adams was the first to speak. Step-
I ping to te side of Hngu Allan, she said •:
“Heaven be thanked, father, that the
! truth is known at lust. Your sou and my
i adopted brother, as I must call him now,
j is free from the stab: that has rested upon
1 his name so long."
“I am thankful, Dora; but why did
j Heaven decree thut it should come so late?
j Oh, my boy—my buy I And I turned
! against you like all the rest. I might
j have known tlmt you were iunocent, nl
! though the proof against you was terrible.
| Oh, my child ! would to Heaven that I
; knew at this moment whether you were
! alive or dead!”
j ! ‘Ralph Allan is alive," Baid the Pro
! fessor, iu low, tremulous voice.
Hugh Allan turned upon him with tlic
; radidity of tbonght,
“My son alive ?—is what you said ?”
I “Yes. ”
"Where is he f
“Here father—l am he. Look—do you j
not know me now ?”
He pulled the long heard he wore from
his face, and the spectacles from his eyes, I
and stood before him looking every inch !
an Allan, though older and more careworn J
than when bis father hail last seen him. ;
“My son—my son 1 Thank God you I
are given to me again I” aud he clasped
him in a close embrace.
Little more is tlierß to add to my story. |
That much the reader has already con- j
jeotured. Ralph told of hi; wanderings in
foreign lauds, and of his meeting with his
father's old friend there ; how, at last, he
had ventured dome in disguise, iu hopes,
it time was given him. and he was not dis
covered, he might obtain some proof which
should establish his innocence. That
proof had come now, and iu a way that
lie had little expected.
A few years later, Dora Adams married
Hugh Allan's heir, and id! thu countryside
agreed in saying that Soutb-Bidge had
muter seen a fairer bride.
-
Influence of Newspapers.
A school Teacher, who was engaged for
a long time iu his profession, and witness
ed the influence of u newspaper on the
rnimlH of a fam.ly and children, writes as
follows :
1 have found it to be a universal fact,
without exception, that those pupils of
both sexes and of ages, who have access to
newspapers while at home, when compared
to those who have not, are ;
1. Better readers, excellent in pronun
ciation, and consequently read more nn
ilerstaudingly.
'l. They arc better spellers, nud define j
words with more ease and accuracy.
3. They obtain practical knowledge of j
geography iu almost half the time it re
quires of others; as the newspapers have j
made them acquainted with the location of j
the important places of the nations, their
government and doings on the globe.
4 They are better grainariaus for having
become so familiar with every variety of
styles in the newspapers, from the com
monplace advertisement to the finished
nmi classical oration of the statesman, they
more readily comprehend the moaning of
the textuud constantly auulize its construc
tion with nouruey.
C. They write better coin lositious, using
better language, more clearly and more
correctly expressed.
6. Those young men who havo for years
berm readers of newspapers are always
taking the lead iu debuting societies, ex- j
hibiting n more extensive knowledge upon I
a greater variety of subjects and express- j
ing their views with greater tlueuce, clear- I
ness and correctness.
Health and Fashion.
Tho Science of Health says : Not until
we deal conscientiously with nature as we
do with tradesmen shall we, us individuals,
be entitled to rewards of merit. Wo ask
tor a load of good wood, pay the market
price for it, get the worth of our money,
and have the satisfaction of warmth from
the fire it makes. Snppose the dealer
knew we would not pay for it. He would
not he likely to give full measure of the
best quality. The dainty bits of lace, jet
ornaments and plumes, rosebuds and vel
vets composing a hat ure very becoming i
to some faces. The dressy hut has s price;
it takes money to pay for it. The little
lady wishes to look stylish, pays the price,
mid is satisfied amd happy until the fash
f n changes, She .T“-injs health and elas- J
ticity of slop, buoyancy of spirit- Could
tliry.be purchased at Stewart’s or of Worth, ’
millions of dollars would roll in to tho cred
it of their bank accounts. Alas, poor child
of fashion 1 gold ounnot buy for you the
ilu'.vy freshness of a vigorous life. The
sntnfiiiue and raindrops are gifts. Rosea
in cheeks, cherries iu color of lips, come
from within. The price is service, and
faithful service, too, under the direction
of tiie most generous and most exacting
physician, Mother nature. Her rewards
are sure ; her punishment certain. There
can be no appeal to a higher court—no
amendments to her divinely appointed
“constitution." Will you enter a willing
student ? Are yon willing to measure your
life by her rule and compass and square?
“No 1” Then there is little hope for ycm.
A Lesson to Druggists.
The cletk of a druggist iu New Orleans
recently sold spirits of camphor for cam
phor water. I? was administered to a pa
tient amt produced death. A suit was
brought against the druggist for damages,
and it has just been disposed of by the
supreme court of Louisiana, which held
ihut the defendant was primarily liable,
and also liable for the acts of his clerk in
the regular discharge of his business.
The court declare) that the law does not
place a community in the position of
being poisoned by mistakes, with no one
to be held responsible therefor. If it was
the master who did the wrong he is re
sponsible, If it was bis servant who did
it, he is sfill responsible, for the master
is responsible for the acts of his servant
when done in the course of his usual em
ployment. Such decision!! ns these are
necessary to keep the dispensers of pois
onous drugs and compounds up to,a prop
er degree of watchfulness. In all cities
there is far too much carelessness dis
played in relation to this matter. In
some cases incompetent assistants are put
in position in drug stores on the princi
ple of economy. A few hundred dollars
are saved each year on the salary of clerks,
arid the proprietors take the chances. In
other instances clerks are suffered to get
into careless habits, and in this manner
j mistakes occur of a fatal character. But
I wiidfthe druggists me held to a strict
| and rigid accountability, not only for
their own mistakes but for those of their
assistants and clerks, there will be fewer
deaths from the dispensing of improper
drugs.
Effect of Presence of Mind.
What coolness may do in such cases ns
the recent Holyoke disaster, was once well
illustrated by tiie great German actor,
Emile Devrient. The Grand Theatre at
Vienna was crowded. The Emperor
Francis, with several members of his fam
ily, was in the inijieriwl box. The play, j
Nehiller’s "Robbers,” lmd reached its 1
third act, when a cry arose that the stage
was on fire. Devrient signed at one to the
prompter, who lowered the curtain, the
actor stepping out in front of it ere it
wholly fell. In his clear, clarion voice he
said: “There is no lire. The emperor
has been despoiled of an aigrette of dia
monds u entering the theatre. No hon
est man will object to being searched.
Yon will pass out one by one at each sev
eral entrance anil be searched by the
police stationed at tho several doors. Any
man attempting to go out of order will be
arrested.” Tho crowd, decieved by the
coolness and tho charge, poureii out. As
each reached the door he was simply told
to hurry on; arid just as the la3t rows of
tiie upper gallery were filing out the
flames burst through the curtain, envel
oped the auditorium, but not a life was
lost, though in loss than half au hour
after the great building was in ruins.
“Qittin" a Tooth Drawfcd.”
About ten o’clock yesterday mopnig a
farmer and his wife hitched their team on
Woodward avenue, and iu another live
minutes had mounted the stairs and ap
peared in a dentist’s office. The old liulv
had her face tied up nud there was a smell
‘ of camphor, peppermint, paregoric, tnr
-1 pontine, uud oil of smoke, as (she crossed
j the walk.
\ 'Biaoo up, Mary—brace up!’ cautioned
i the husband as they started to fclimb the
stairs. ‘I know just how ye feel—kinder
weak in the knees, like—but we’ll snou
have that old snug oaten there like a horse
running down hill’
•They were met by the smiling detotist,
and the husband continued:
‘She’s got, an old snag which we want
drawed or dug out or driv in, or suthii ’
'Take a chair, madam,’ replied tho den
tist, ‘and I guess I can help you.’
‘I vina! if I hadn’t mind to hack out!'
she said, dropping on the sofa to rest.
‘Brace, Alary— brace I' commanded the
husband, 'Why, even little children, bo
high, (measuring) come up here every day
aud have their teeth drawed for fun!’
‘I don't b'leve it!' she bluntly replied.
‘Do you suppose I’d lie to yon, Mary,—
do you s'poso I'd tell a deliberate lie right
here?’ asked the husband.
Slio seemed to think he would, hut
didn’t suy so, and the dentist talked softly
and sweetly, and finally iuduccd her to'
remove her shawl and hat nud sit down in i
the chair. While lie was looking over his
instruments the husband remarked:
‘You want to brace, Mary. Held your
month open ns long uh you posaiblur "cun,
and don’t try to look oaten the winder.’
'I wish ye’d shot up!' she snapped, sit
ting up straight. 'Don't you suppose I
know enough to get a tooth ilrawed?’
‘But can't yer own husband speak to ye
Mary—the husband, who lias lived with
you nigh on to thirty-six year?’
The Dentist waved him away and ca
joled the woman into leaning buck and
opening her month. He found the cause
of liel- misery to be an old snag of n tooth
which would have to ho dug around, but
as soon as the lance touclied the gum she
screamed out and struggled up.
‘Mary—dear Mary, why do you holler?'
exclaimed the husband, rushing over to
her side.
‘She's all right—the worst is over, ’ re
plied the dentist.
‘Oh, she’ll stand it like an elephant—
sheVgot real grit, havu’t you, Mary?’
‘She fell hack, opened her month again,
and again Hie lance made her scream out.
‘Brace, Mary—shut ‘yer eyes and hold
on to the chair!’ exclaimed her husband.
‘I wish you’d squat over there, and stay
there!’ she snarled, after spitting out n
mouthful of blood.
‘But l can’t sit tliar and honr ye moarn
and holler nud take ou so.’
‘W lie’s A hollerin'?’
‘You did.’
'No, I didn’t.’
‘Mary, don’t tell me a lie— a bold,
straight lie, right afore this dentister. ’
Tbs dentist induced him to be seated
ngnin, but it wap five minutes before the
woman would open her mouth. She de
dared that the ache had entirely vanished,
and that her tooth never felt to well iu her
life.
‘Don’t try to crawfish, Mary—don't try
that!’ exclaimed her husband.
‘Will you sbet up?’ she shouted.
‘No, 1 wou’t; duru me ef I do!—Here
you’ve kept me awake fourteen nights,
bowlin’ with that old tooth! You’ve
jawed and howled and tore around like r.n
old camel, and now you’ve got to have
that tooth drnwed or you’ll go home
afoot!”
She wanted to get out of the chair and
go for him, but the dentist persuaded him
into going to u drug store after ten drops
of laudanum, and while he was absent the
tooth was extracted. ‘Alary’ was balan
cing it on her hand when he came iu, nud
after a brief glance he exclaimed,
“Bully for yon, Mary! I know’d ye had
grit. AH ye wanted was me to encourage
ye.’
'You didn’t cneourago nothing,’ she
loftily replied
‘Tdidn’t, cli!’ Why, dnrn it, if it
wasn’t for me, you'd bin howlin round
home this very minute, callin’ for hot
ashes, and camfire, and oils, and vitriol,
and cotton! Don't lie, Mary, jist cause
you've had one old tooth drawedl’
‘I pity your second wife, ’ she growled,
as she put on her hut. 'I know just how
them poor children of mine w ill be used!
'Allers a twittin' me about a second
wife!’ lie exclaimed. 'Here I’ve got to
pay fifty cents to have- that old snag
drawed, and ye ftuiu’t the least bit grate
ful. I’d drive hum and leave ye in town
only I kuow’d ye bo in jail in less than an
hour. ’
‘Wait till we get home,’ she suid as she
started down stairs.
‘ T/ireaisl Threats!' whi-pered the far
mer, ns lie turned to the dentist; remem
ber, it I'm found dead to-night that ye
heard her utter threats!’
And Le followed her down stairs.
A Million Dollar H .mmer.
A German paper informs us that the fu
i minis steel works of Frederick Krupp, of
| Essen, are about to receive a very iujpor-
I iaut addition to their machinery. The
largest steam hammer in use at these works
at tiie present time, is one capable of work
ing a mass of steel 50 tons in weight, and
erected at a cost of|ssfio,Goo. It is now in
contemplation to build anew steam hum
mer napable of heating up a mass of steel
of double the weight, namely, lttO tons.
The new machine, it is estimated, will
cost, $1,000,000, and will be the moat pow
ei ful in the world ; and it may be expect and
that the size and weight of the German ar
tiilcry will be enormously iucrensec, as the
new steam hammer will permit the work
ing-tip of huger masses of metal than, up
to the present time, has been thought to
be passible by scientific engineers.
A ICiss in Seminary Lanouaof.. —A
young iady in Cincinnati, who lias just re
turned from completing her education in
Boston, wanted to kiss her old lover, the
other night, and the mother objected.
The daughter drew up her queenly form
to its full height, and exclaimed :
“Mother, terrible, tragical, and sub
limely retributive will be the course pur
sued by me if you refuse to allow him to
place his alabaster lips to mine, aud en
rapture my immortal soul by imprinting
angelic sensations of divine bliss upon the
indispensable member of my human phys
iognomy, aud then kindly allowing me to
take a withdrawal from his beneficent pres
ence. ”
The mother feebly admitted that her ob
jections were overruled. . j
MISCELLANEOUS.
It is now settled that Satan's address to
the fallen angels, after being driven out
of Heaven, was in german. Ho began by
su.ving “Nicks, come arouse!”
“ Drimtiiidhvrickliillichattau " is tho
name of a town in the isle of Mull. It
ought to he a railwny station somewhere.
How tho brakesmen would chew thut won!
up.
“Charley, dear, said sho, glancing
mischievously at her affianced, “do yon
think you'd ever be caught hanging pie
tmes in your nightclothes?" “No, love,"
responded Charley, “I don’t wear' em.”
l’olly being bantered one day by somo
of her female friends in regard to her
lover, who had but one leg, she replied to
them smartly, “Pooh! I wouldn't hsve a
man with two legs; they’re too common!''
It is said that Rochefort twice attempt -
jed to commit suicide recently, but wan
prevented. And now he has gone ami
j got married. Prevent an infatuated French ■
I man from committing oue desperate dew:.
I and he’ll turn right around and commit
I another.
I A mau in the Bergen tunnel the other
j morning bailed a fellow-laborer with, “So
ye’ve got a baby ut yer house. What u
! it ti loyor a g rl?" ' Ouessl” "Ah' it's a
liny,” “No.” “Well, then it’s it girl.”
“Faith,” said the delighted father, “some
bod’s been telling ye.”
This is the seitsou of the year when tho
man with a garden rushes into the housi,
seizes pen uud paper, shuts his teeth to
gether hard and dashes off tho following
aud directs directs it to Ids neighbor:
“Dkah Sir—lf you don't keep your
ooufouuded hens out of my garden I'iJ
kill every blasted one of tlieml”
In an English Sunday-school the Vicar's
daughter, who was very proud of her Bi
ble class,inquired of one of her pupils iu a
smock frock how Queen Sheba came to
Solomou? He replied: “By railway, Miss
On asking for an explanation she received
this answer: “Because, Miss, tho Billo
says she came to Jerusalem with a very
heavy train."
“Six things," says Hamilton, are “re
quired to create a home. Integrity must
bo the architect, and tidiness the uphols
terer. It must be warned by affection,
and lighted with cheerfulness, nnd indus
try must be the ventilator, renewing the
atmosphere, and bringing in fresh salu
brity day by day, while over all, as a pro
tecting glory and canopy nothing will
sufiice but the blessiug of God.”
Two Meaninos.— A new baggage-man
ou oue of our local trains was told to pile
up tho trunks in the baggage car, and In
sure to hang the checks on tho outside.
The liberal minded youth piled up the
trunks and tlieu took off tho cheeks, wild
leather straps attached, and hung them
ou the outside of the car. The baggage
master at the depot was driven nearly
frantic by the passengers per the Orizaba
attempting to identify their boxes.
An American clergyman exclaimed to
his hearers “Eternity! Why you di n’t
know tho meaning of the word, nor t
either, lmrdly. It is forever nnd evei,
and live or six everlastings a-top of that.
You might place a row of figures from
here to sunset, nnd cypher them ull up.
and it wouldn't begin to tell how many
ages long eternity is. Why, my friends,
after millions and millions of years had
rolled away in eternity it would be a hun
dred thousand years to breakfast time."
Woman’s Bights.- An old lady riding
on a street car yesterday, took a clay pipe
and tobacco from her pocket, and after
tilling the pipe and borrowing a match
she leaned back for a smoke. The con
ductor entered the car, tapped her on the
shoulder and said :
“You can’t smoke in here.”
NOt 7.
| “I know it's a lectio crowded,” she le
! plied, ns she looked up, “but I’m used to
l Iraveiliu’ and I guess 1 can put up with
it!' 1 She was allowed to finish her pipe.
—Detroit Free Press.
Girls, let 11s tell you a stubborn truth.
No woman evi r looked ho well to a sensible
man, ns when dressed in neat plain mod
est attire, without a single ornament
about ber person. She looks then ns
though she posessed worth in herself, and
needed 110 artificial rigging to end a t
her value. If a young woman won l
spend as much lime in cultivating It c
j temper and cher.sh'ng kindness, meek-
I ness, genth ness, mercy and other qnuli
| ties, as most of tin m do in extra dress
and ornaments to increase their personal
charms, she would at a glance, he known
among a thousand. Hor character would
be road in her countenance.
The Bringham murder in Boston Ji
put Mussclinsetts ladies on their guard
gainst tramps and beggars. All ableboi
ied member of tiie former class entered
house in Worcester a few days since und
asked a young lady, who was the sole oc
cupant of the house, for something to ee’t.
When the lady went to the pantry to (' t
some food for him he followed, and refu
sing tlPe proffered biscuit, demand' l
“them rings” and money. Therenp' 11
1 the holy drew u revolver and marched hiiu
out of the house at the muzzle therei '.
She ought to have a medal from the
State.
A Visiting Duo.—A Nuliant dog lias .1
taste for visi>ing. Ho goes down to tin*
depot anil steps aboard the train, wit' -
out the customary little ceremony at 11.0
ticket office; and when it leaches tie*
right town he bounds off mid pays a via::
to some family friend of his master, fit
never makes a mistake about the town o ■
the train, and is such a fine, intelligent
fellow, he alwiys meets with a welconi .
He usually spends two or three days 1 n
his trips, and no doubt picks up considiu
able dog loro in bis travels. I do not
know whether tho mightier dogH sho
him any particular attention on his r
turn, but ho is on good terras with tL< m
all.
A youth precocious enough to attempt
the traurd’r of h s father, mother, and
brother-in-law, is certainly entitled to
special notice. Master Pomeroy Heeding
is the son of Mr. E. L. Beeding, of Cmn-
I r"’ge, Mo., one “of the wealthiest and
moat popuiar men iu the State.” Being
sent to Fayette, Mo., to got an education,
young Heeding took a degree in love,
becoming enamored of a charming young
woman. He pined for liymenial rites,
but not having money enough to pay even
a Justice of the Peace, ho concluded to
have the family killed off that so he might
coma into the family possessions. Ho
thercfnVe negotiated with one Stanton to
do the dreadful deed, agreeing to pay
$1,500 for 1 he doing, saying that he could
get a man in St. Louis to undertake the
job for SSOO, only he was “ufraid he
would kill the wrong one.” Mr. Stanton
professed a willingness to engage in the
transaction; and then in the meanest way
be informed old Mr. Beeding of his son’s
improper designs. Forthwith, as a pre
liminary piece of discipline, tiie juvenile
hero was soundly horsewhipped by his in
dignant papa. Then he received a draft
fur SSO. Thm he was told to make him
self scarce. Aud probably did. At any
rate lie cashed the draft.