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BODY AND SOUL
Here at life’s silent shadowy gate, \y
O Soul, my Sou!. I lie 8d<1 wait;
Faint in the darkness, blind and dumb,
O Sou), my promised comrade, come!
The morn breaks gladly in^the east;
Hush! hark' the signs of solemn feast;
The softened footstep on the stair;
The happy smile, the chant, the prayer;
The dainty robes, the christening-bowl—
’Tis well with Body and with Soul,
Why lingerest thou at dawn of life?
Seect not a world with pleasure rife?
Hear’st not the song and whir of bird?
The joyous leaves to music stirred?
Thou too shalt sing and float in light;
My. Soul, thou shalt be happy—quite.
But yet so young, and such unrest?
Thou must be g.ad, my glorious guest.
Here is the revel, here is mirth,
Here gayest melodies of earth; r
Measures of joy in fulness spent;
My Soul, thou canst but be content.
hand? ii
Is this a tear upon my
A tear? I do not understand.
Ripples of laughter, and a moan?
Why sit we tlius, apart, alone? .
Lift up thine eyes, O Sou', ani sing!
He comes, our lover, and our king!
Feel how eachpuise in rapture thrills!
Look, at our feet the red wine spills!
And he—he comes with step divm?,
A spirit meet, O Sou!, for thine.
Body and Soul’s supremest bliss
What, dost thou ask for more ttiarrthis?
Stay, here are houses, lands, and gold;
Here, honor's hand; here, gains untold;
Drink thou the full cup to the lees;
Drink, Soul, and make thy bed in ease.
Thou art my prisoner; thou, my slave;
Ani thou shalt sip wherein I lave.
Nay? nay?L t Then there are broader field?,
Whose luting path a treasure yields;
Thou shalt the universe explore,
Its heightsof knowledge, depths of- lore;
Shalt journey’far 6'er land and sea;
And I, my Soul, wilt follow thee^. ) \
Wilt follow—follow—bat I lag;
My b^rart grows faint, my footsteps flag,
And there are higher, holier things? t
Is thi^a taunt-thy spirit flings?
What is it, Soul, that thou wouldst say?
Thou erst had time to fast and pray
Give me one worfi,,one 1 loving sign,
For this spent life of yours and mine!
I held- thee fast by sordid ties?
I trailed thy garments, veiled thine eyes?
Go on, I oome. but once did wait,
0 Sou!, for thee, at morning’s gate.
Canst thou not pause to give me breath?
Perchance this shadow. Soul, is death,
' I stumble, fall;.it is the grave;
I am the prisoner; I the slave;
,
And thou, strange guest, for ay art free;
Forgive me. Soul; I could but be
The earth that soiled the fleshy clod, ' 'I
The weight that bound thee to the sod.
Dust unto dust! I hear the knell;
And yet; O Sou 1 , I * lovea thee well!
—Emma H. Nason, iu the Century.
THE DOCTOR’S LESSON.
h
! '\n 1 K. FORD was driv¬
A ing home in the twi¬
t: light after working
I ,, II k arc I a b day, tired
! and anxious as to the
W /.-i result of an import
aut surgical opera
t ‘ on performed that
morning. The mud
____ •-^r’t£3 z ''$?%• spattered up from
the streets tis he rolled along, and the
chilling November drizzle gave to the
familiar trees a forlorn, almost ghastly
aspect. His heart warmed as he pic¬
tured to himself a wife watching for
him, with a welcome smile, from their
cosy parlor, dinner ready, and a long,
restful evening before them.
But, as he drew near home, no cheer¬
ful light streamed from door or window.
All seemed as dark and deserted as the
dripping street. He threw the reins to
the boy, whose duty was to hold the
horse on his professional rounds, and
flung open the door with an irritated,
injured feeling.
No tender smile; no sympathetic
voice; no firelight; no dinner, appar¬
ently.
“Elinor!” he called.
; • No answer. i
“Elinor!”
This time a voice spoke out of the
darkness—a tired voice—
“Do be more quiet, John; the baby is
just going to sleep.”
“Confound it I Why isn't there a
light here? And why isn’t the baby
asleep before this time of night?”
“He has been fretful all day with his
teeth, and I have not had a chance to
change my dress.”
A wailing cry from the nursery sent
the voice hurrying thither, and the doc¬
tor, with some inaudible words pro¬
ceeded to light the gas and take off his
wet overcoat. The house was cold, the
parlor had evidently been arranged by
Hibernian hands, an odor of something
burning stole in from the kitchen. A
pleasant receptton for a man after a long
day’s work.
He rau up stairs with no gentle foot¬
step. His wife sat by the nursery fire,
her face wore a weary expression, and
ehe had on the same blue gown which
ike had donned for breakfast. The baby
at length slept in her arms, She held
up a warning finger as her husband came
blundering in, but already baby's light
•lumber had been disturbed and the pro¬
cess of soothing and singing had to be
repeated for the fifteenth time.
. It seemed to the young mother as if
her patience could hold out no
It was '.PTovoking to have the littie ode
startlec? from jtis'Ilneasy would dreams again.
She knew Bridget spoil the din
her. She had been trying all day to get
down stairs to make the house pleasant
with a magic touch here and there. She
longed to get into a fresh gown an d
brush her hair, but there had been no
time for her tc do one of these things.
Nurse was away with-a sick sister, and
babies always demand more from their
mothers than from any one else. They
are tyrannical and know and seize every
opportunity to prove their power mothers, over
the anxious, half ignorant young
who are happy, after all, to be their
slaves. , •
/ When at last the dinner bell rang Mrs.
.
Ford/lAid the baby in his crib, sound
asleep th'is time, warm and lovelv in his
ulter repose,. She gave a hurried dab at
her wavy hair, caught up a fresh hand
kerchief and ran down to join her bus
band, who sat at the table with a decid
edly cross look on- his face. He barely
tasted the soup, then pushed’ it away in !
*
.aiso-ust.
t t Burned?” aske^i his wife. i
“Of course. Can’t Vou smell it all
over the housed ' Why "don’t you look
'
after ‘•Why/John, Bridget a-little?”
hardly been '
I hare
downstairs to-day.”
i 4 Where’s Hannah?”
“She went to her sister’s. last night.”
“Oh yes; I forgot. What’s this? Cold
corned beef l Really. Elinor, have you
nothing else to offer?”
•‘•Would you like an omelet?”
“No.”
“What then!”
“A beefsteak, if-there is one.®
Hrs. Ford rose ahd went to the kitca
en. The girl, of course, had just
filled np the range with fresa coal, so
there was nothing to be done but make
best of the cold meat, potatoes and
macarroni, followed by a dessert of ap¬
ple pudding and cheese.
Dr. 1 Ferd found -fault with the pota¬
toes and said he was -tire dof ’fbe macarrqni,
the bread was dry, and ; b&ttet not
perfect. “My mothei’ As to always the pudding Eau mince’pies ,- r at
this season,” said he.
This" "was the last straw, and his wife,
unusually sensitive ;.to straws to-night,
could bear no more.
“It is a pity, you-; ever left your
mother.”
“I think, so too,” he .responded push¬
ing his chair back.
His wife hesitated a moment .whether
to run around the table and burst into
jearsrupon her husband’s shoulder or to
rush upstairs and have a good cry by
baby’s side. She decided upon the lat¬
ter course and, with quivering lip, left
^he room and shut herself up in, the nur¬
sery, where the fire was dying on the
hearth and the baby breathing softly, in
strange contrast to her overwrought con¬
dition. ; ” '•
“Well, it is provoking. Women passion al¬
ways must cry and *fly into a
about trifle?.”
Bdt her - husband; ’ eVCn < as he thought
these words,began to feel repentant. He
‘ remembered the teething baby, and the
long day at home alone. In another
moment he wxmld have fpllqwed his wife
upstairs and apologized for the pain he
had given her. Bat the doorbell rang,
and a summons to visit a sick man at a
distance sept him- at ogee' but into the
wet night. And all domestic grievances
were forgotten before he had driven 200
yards. lived ,< . a,squalid .. part of
The patient in
the town by the river. The darkness
seemed deeper in this poor neighbor¬
hood, the rain more soaking and the
wind keener. The river swept sullenly
by, a black, swollen tide, reflecting the
flaring lights on the bridge. But the
doctor nbnded this discomfort very lit¬
tle. He was in love with his profession,
ardent and young. Besides, the despised
dinner had given him new courage to
fight pain and death.
He entered the one room of the low
house to which he had been directed
with a face quite free from, impatience.
A woman opened the door for him—a
lean, miserable creature, with pale eyes
void of expression. Her thin hair hung
over her neck, her calico dress fell limply
from her sharp shoulders. She stared at
the doctor as he entered, and he could
see there were tears in her childlike
eyes. said, slowly gazing
“Joe’s sick,” she
into his face.
“What’s the matter?”
“He—he’s goiu’ ter die, maybe,” she
faltered piteously. not.”
“No, 1 hope in whis¬
“Joe’s sick,” she repeated a
per, shaking her head.
“Who’s come?” asked a voice from the
bed in the corner of the room. “Nellie,
girl, who axe ye talkin’ with?”
“It is Dr. Ford, whom you sent for,”
said the physician approaching the bed.
One candle lighted dimly the untidy,
comfortless place, showing a stove and a
man with tumble hair and rough beard
lying among the pillows of his bed.
“Oh, the doctor,’’said he, with fever¬
ish eyes staring from under shaggy
brows.
“How long have you been ill?” asked
Dr. Ford, sitting down on a rickety
chair.
“It’s a week since I gave up, but I’ve
been feeling bad a long time.”
The doctor placed his little ther¬
mometer under the patient's tongue and
waited silently.
“Jce’s sick,” moaned the girl, peer¬
ing out of the shadows.
The sufferer seemed to be irritated by
the repetition of these words and made
impatient gesture,- but as he did so
glanced pitifully at the slouching figure,
“What you most ceeil-is good
ins:,” said the doctor, after examining
the patient*
Tee man’s face darkened. The woman
hovered aimlessly over tue stove,
“She's my wife,” said the sick man,
hoarsely. “I know she ain’t quite like
other folks. But she’s peaceable and;
good, not bold ahd ‘noisy like other’
women. I pitied her first off; then I
got kind-o' fond of her. And she —
The girl had crept to the bedside and
stood there with her vacant,, troubled ,
face, fumbling with the pillows. mother
“Joe,” she said, much as a
might speak her baby’s name.
“She can't do nothing for me nor for
herself,” whispered the man, as he
clasped one of the fluttering kanus in
his.
“Poor thing! murmured the doctor,
“I can earn good wages when 1 in
well,’ went on the invalid, “and I did
the cooking and kept the house tidy
men. Now everything’s going wrong,
She spoils all the victuals, bat she don’t
mean to.”
At this moment something on the stove
boiled over with a loud his3 and filled
the room with the odor of scorching
milk. The girl 3tared, then moved,
towards the ruined mess.
“Oh, dear me,” said the sick- plan,
under hi3 breath. “Don’t burn yourself,
Nellie,” be called, as if to a child.
“Itls scorched, Joe,” she .said,the tears
overflowing at last.
“Nevermind,- bay girl, throw it away.
We cau get plenty more. You see;dob
tor,” he said in his hoarse voice, ; ‘.T
can’t'speak rough to her. She’s mv
wife.” ; , f i.' t J
The doctor sat with bent head,speech
less,
“I’ll send you a nurse, my man,” he
said, after a pause. “What you need is
good care. I will come again to-mor¬
row.” And .with alow bow to man and
wife, now clinging together, hand in
hand, the doctor' said good-night, and
went on bjs wav.
“Thank you, sir,” called o.ut the sick
man, niuch moved.
The girl only stared and wiped the
last tear from her lashes.
Two hours later a capable, kind
hearted woman was installed as nurse in
the little home by the river. She brought
with her,-food f iu abundance, and com¬
forts of all kinds.
Dr. Ford drove slowly homeward.
Though it was late a bright light shone
from the parlor window as he stopped.
The glow of a wood fire illuminated the
room as he entered. But no one came to
meet him. His wife sat in her rocker
fast asleep. The lamp threw a radiance
over her bronze-brown hair and one deli¬
cate cheek as she slept with her head
against the crimson back of the chair.
Her face wore a sweet, childlike expres- 1
sion, with a touch of pathos about the
lips; and her hands lay loosely clasped
in the lap-of, her gown, of soft dove
color. , •
Near the fire stood a white-draped
table holding-a tempting little -repast/
carefully the arranged. bung From a slender glass
in midst one red rose. Ibe
doctor knew she had cut it for him ironi
her favorite plant. On a pretty plate re¬
posed the flakiest and most delect able ol
mince pies.
Dr. cheek Ford stooped and kissed his wife’s
fair reverently. She stirred, then
' opened her large eyes slowly.
“Oh,,you have come. I am sorry I;
was not awake to meet you. But here’s
a mihee pie. I sent over to your mother
for one.”
“Hang the pic!” cried John Ford.
“Elinor, I am a brute!”
“Oh, no, dear—only a maD, instead of
an archangel, as I once believed you to
be. But never mind. How do you like
my dress?”
“It is divine, and you are an angel,
Elinor. But dearest, come and sit by
me. I have just been to see a gentle¬
man. I want to tell you all about it.”
The Great Salt Desert of Asia.
Some seventy odd miles south of Tehe
rau, in Persia, is a large tract of land
known as the Great Salt Desert of Asia,
and a wonderful curiosity it is. A trav¬
eller, C. E. Biddulph, with a party vis¬
ited the section and gives a very inter¬
esting account of what he saw. The salt
tract is a great area, being covered with
an incrustation of solid salt of various
depths, and resembles somewhat a vast
frozen lake. From the outer edge for
about three miles toward the centre of
the field the salt is found to be soft with
au admixture of earth. Beyond this dis¬
tance the salt began to assume more the
appearance of solid ice, and will sustain
the weight of horses, mules, camels, etc.
At a distance of about eight miles towards
the centre it was necessary to employ the
service of a large hammer and an iron
tent peg to break off a piece of this
phenomenal incrustation to carry away as
a souvenir.—Boston Cultivator.
Oatmeal Becoming Popular.
The curious will note that one of the
most noticeable features about the ex¬
port trade of Boston for the month of
May was the increase in oatmeal seat
abroad. There was a gain of more than
200,000 pounds in this item as compared
with a year ago. Johnson described
oats as an article which Englishmen led
to their horses and Scotchmen to them¬
selves. But evidently, from the way in
which the oatmeal trade is growing, the
Scotchmen are converting the world to
their way cf eatiDg, if not their way of
thinking.—Eoston Journal.
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FOR TERMS, ETC., ADDRESS
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DAVIS SEWING MACHINE CO.
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BAYEQET,-®. CHICAGO, I(L.
For Sale by GWAP Tain.
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ULLINS f!0LLE8LB
BRISTOL, VA.,-TENN.
1 yi A CHRISTIAN HOME
FOR SCHOOL GIRLS
L Hiffi ginia The most Schools. accessible All of Collegiate *th$ Vir¬
advantages advantages of first order. Con¬
servatory ill MUSIC.
GZ7*Terms Thursday before low. Session begins in
first Monday
aa Sept. For catalogue address
r Rev. I>. 8. MEAIiOtf, Pre*(
THE
BOSS” DROP HllpEBO
Are more readily put up, and more Ball and ,
satisfactory in use, than any other
Socket Hangers, I
-BECAUSE
Design is approved ample by all principal practical strains men. ,
Strength Drip Cups is lifted where free without spilling are. oiL
are fit. any
Boxes Idjusting Screws fit are made a will good throw oil.
are easy to up and not
Bolt Slots are long enough 1‘or good adjustment',
Sizes are marked on every casting.
—PRICE LIST.
(Subject to change without notic^.) .
Diameter.
1 2 1 1 1 3-16 7-16 11-16 3-16 15-16 in u “ “ “ 6 6V4 7% 8Li 4 6 y tSSSS CA Ol —7 -1 SSoSSSS 10 6 7 8 9 ssss 12 f!0
2 7-16 “ 8?£ 15 75
:
2 15-16 “ 9) i . 19 75
TRY THEM AND SEE.
SPECIAL PRICES TO THE TRADE.
A full stock of Hangers kept on hand, and ship¬
ments made on short notice-.
THOS. F. SEIT2INGER »
PRINTERS’ SUPPLIES,
DEALER IN
HANGERS, PULLEYS, COUPLINGS, ANO ENGINE
BOILERS, NEW AND SECOND-HAND,
10 & 32 W. MITCHELL ST„ ATLANTA, GA.
/:• I 1 VS I a 1 IgolifiGo: I l Llffi l '
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10-inch Drop.
13-inch Drop.-
16-inch Drop.
19-inch Drop.
22-inch Drop.
25~inch Drofi.
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will'do first-class work, and 1 !
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I j T ivo dealers wanted ffheKH
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WHITE SEWING a*
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For Sale by H P & D M Atoai
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