Newspaper Page Text
LOVE UNEXPRESSED^
The sweetest notss among the human heart
ktrinz?
Are dull with rn-t:
The sweetest eh oris, adjusted by the angels,
Are clogged with du-t.
We pip? an j pine again our dreary music
Upon the s“lf-same strains.
While sounds of crime and fear and desola
tion.
Come back in sad refrains.
On through the world we go, an army
marching,
With listening ear=.
Each longing, signing ior the heavenly
music
He never hears:
Each longing, sighing for a word of com¬
fort,
A word of tender praise,
A word of love, to cheer the endless Journey
Of earth’s hard, busy days.
They love u« and we know it; this suffices
For reason’s share,
Why should they pause to give that lo7e’s
expression
With gentle care?
Why should they paus_? But still our hearts
are aching
With all the gnawing pain
Of hungry love that longs to hear the music,
And longs and longs in vain.
We love them and we know it; if we falter,
W'ith fingers numb,
Among the unused strings of love’s expres¬
sion.
The notes are dumb.
We shrink within ourselves in voiceless sor
TOW f
Leaving the words unsaid,
And side by side with those we love the
dearest.
In silence on we tread.
Thus on we tread, and thus each in silence
Its fate fulfills,
Waiting and hoping for the heavenly music
Beyond the distant hills.
The only difference of love in heaven
From love on earth below.
Is; Here we love aud know not how to
tell it,
Aud there we all shall know.
—Constance F. Woolson.
A ST111TGGLE FOR LIFE.
BY H. D. MASON.
Wkjj /LIVE in a very
^3? quaint old place. If
m ^ you were told it was
haunted you would
readily believe it.
) The house is a
fragmeut of the
^cayed past — a half-de
relic of the
year 1810—so unlike a modern house
that people gaze at it curiously as they
pass along the fashionable thoroughfare
□ pon which it fronts. A mausion of gray
sandstone it stands in the midst of exten
live grounds, shaded by noble oaks,
elms, pines and sycamores. Such elms
there are in various portions of New
England; such pines over Fenimoro
Cooper’s grave at Otsego Lake; such
oaks near Niagara or in the blue-grass
region of Kentucky; such sycamores
along the Ohio or the Wabash; but there
are few places where odo finds them
grouped together. They give the place
an air of seclusion such as brooded over
Kenilworth. Close inspection is required
to determine that the house is built of
itone. Vines cover it from foundation
to roof, half concealing doors and win¬
dows, and massing up uuderthe eaves in
great swells of vendure. There are ivy,
Virginia creepers and trumpet vines, and
I would gladly have more were there
ipace for them to grow.
It just sueh home retiring ... old ,,,
bachelor is like myself a loves. as a |
[call I need it comfortable; scarcely descrioe tidy housekeepers the interior, j
(Heaven defend me from them!) would
c&U it slovenly. My aged housekeeper
l9 no ambitious She tries to please me,
and does so; but she is not tidy My
occasional visitors assure me that the
rooms are not well aired, that there is a
musty odor in the parlor, that the li
brary is quite damp. I confess that such
remarks amuse me. The dampness aud
mustmess have never been apparent to
me, and my housekeeper has never men
tioued the subject. I therefore conclude
that the trouble lies chiefly in the fancy
of certain prying and officious women,
who have not enough at home to keep
them busv.
Up in my attic, opening toward the ;
main street, is a small circular window. |
which swings back on a hinge. Vines half i
exclude the light. Birds come there, j
mostly sparrows—-a trulv detestable bird
—but rooms and bluebirds also visit the
place at intervals. I once had a robin
stand on the eave within a foot of my
face, peering at me curiously. He
winked and rolled his pretty head in a
most diverting way. I half believe he
thought me some gigantic species of bird
—a gigantic cousin he had not seen
before.
I often peer shyly at the outside world
through tnis little window, standing on
my ft the while, as the opening is
higher The ii’inve the floor than common.
attic ii partly lights is seldom used.
Old furniture, boxes, pictures, papers
and violins take up most of the space;
cobwebs and sootare omnipresent. There
are darn angles and corners into which
nobody but myself ever peers. I love
the quiet of the place, and its utter lack
of order. Sometimes I take up one of
my old violins and discourse a half-for
gotton air in so low a key that even the
Aoidt rs :ue not disturbed.
A recent warm evening in Julr found
me in the attic. A breath of suitrv air
! came through the vine-chocked window;
the leaves on mv old trees were motion
less. Many people were moving on the
i 8tree t, brought out of their homes in the :
hone of finding cooler air. One young
ladv I singled out walkiug alone, a tall,
stately women, who face, while dimly j
seen at quite a distance, I could imagine
to be handsome. I grew retrospective
as I watched her. I am not given
sentimentality—indeed, I know
women too well to love them;
but it cannot be denied that it is very
natural for a man to let them bamboozle
him. I am well aware that the word
bamboozle is not elegant; but no other
word will convey my idea. Women are
natural deceivers; what use have they
for sincerity? How well they know the
power of a handsome figure, a bright
eye, or pretty teeth! With what ad
mirable art do they add to and improve
upon natural attractions! The sweet
smile of a girl in her teens is hard to
resist, I grant you; it overturns reason
and philosophy a3 the great wheel of the
wind mill overthrew Don Quixote; but
if this self same sweet smile fails to cap
tivate you, it is not soon turned upon an¬
other? Faugh! I get out of patience!
Women wind men round their fingers,
Women of tact—polite women—rule the
world. If one could find a really sin¬
cere woman—rather pretty, too—what a
satisfaction it would be to marry her!
But where in the wide world is one to
look for such?
IVhile gazing intently out of the win¬
dow with an interest beyond the ordin¬
ary—shall I confess it?—in the fair pedes¬
trian, I thought I saw a man moving
among the shrubbery near my gate, but
on closer inspection concluded that I had
been deceived. I watched the stately
lady out of sight, laughing at my own
folly the while, and was about to turn
my attention to the old attic when I felt
something touch me. The touch was at
first so faint that I thought it might be
fancy, or that I might have corns in con¬
tact with the wall. In order to see the
street plainly, I had been forced to pro¬
trude my shoulders through the aperture,
which is too small to permit one to turn
round. Before I had time to withdraw
my head, the touch became a grip, and
two stout arms were about my waist. I
was held as in a vise!
Picture to yourself my position. Night
was falling, 1 was alone, and a prisoner
in iny own house. A prisoner of what?
of whom? I might call; but who would
•hear me? I knew the house was empty.
My old housekeeper had gone out, and
might not return for hours. So long as
she attended to my wants and got my
meals regularly, I seldom iuquired where
she went or how long she stayed.
“Who are you?” I gasped.
No reply.
“Letmego,” I shrieked; “I shall
alarm the neighbors.” Not a sound but
the echo of my own voice among the
rafters.
“Help! help!” I screamed.
The grip of the villain tightened.
One hand slowly moved up toward my
neck, making its murderous purpose
more apparent; the other was very near
my faithful old gold time-piece, and
heirloom that numbered more years than
myself. Was I to be murdered for its
possession?
In a, frenzy partly made up of fear,
partly of rage, I struggled to get my
head and shoulders out of the orifice in
order to be on more equal terms with
my dastardly assailant; but I seemed
like a babe in his grasp. My blood
chilled at the idea oi being so powerless.
Did the cut-throat intend to throttle me,
or throw me from the window of my
own attic? As yet ^ he had not uttered
& S0UQ(L j c uld hear tlie muffled
movement of his feet on the floor; but
nQt a word not a breat h. A cold sweat
broke out aU OV er me; mv sight grew
dim< Thesileuce of my mvsterkms as
sailaafc was worse thdu uproar. Why
aid he UQt k|
t < Helpl Iscre amed,my strength
ta j da , r
I lelt a powerfnl leg twisting a tout
my own; he was about to throw me
bodily from the window,
Frenzy nerved me with a strength not
m y owa - I squirmed, twisted, bit,
screamed, and kicked like a madman,
ex t reme violence of my strengtn
shall never cease to astonish rue. I ® uc *
cee ded in getting my head and suou era
out of t ‘ ie aperture, broke loose from the
vdlaie e grasp, and sent him sprawling
oa t * ie fl° or - I rolled over and over nm
itt m y frenE v - Evei T ^n has more or less
-
of the saV;l S e ta hlm ’ aad for the time
being every savage instinct m my nature
was uppermost. It was a tight for life.
The attic had grown dark, and the floor
was so strewn with boxes aud bundles
that it was impossible to avoid them.
We fell over them repeatedly in our
Jtruggles. Precious though the old un¬
framed paintings were, I trod them un¬
derfoot; much as I prized my violins, I
hurled them at the villain with all my
strength. I began to have some advan
tage over him; he did not know the attic
as well as I. He stumbled against the
angles, tipped over cases that I knew the
location of, bumped against the sloping
ceiling. My courage began to rise once
more.
“Begone, or I shall shoot!” I cried.
For the first time there came a sound
from the villain. He chuckled! Well
he knew I had no weapon, and well for
him I had not!
“You are at my mwey; surrender!”
I called, in a voice loud and shrill
enough to rouse the neighborhood.
Again the dastard cbnekledi What
deviltry was he plotting?
“Will you surrender?” I demanded.
“Well, hardly!”
The voice startled me. These were
his first words. I had not expected a
reply, and the words had a strange and
uncanny ring. I confess I trembled,
“You are my nrisoner,” [ sa;d in a
lower kev and with less confidence,
“Ami?”
The effrontery of the villain astounded
and exasperated me. I caught up the
first thing I could reach and huried it
at him. It crashed loudly against the
wall, Shortly after there cane a
scratching sound, and a light flekered in
the darkness. He had cooiiv struck a
match!
I looked at him in amazement. Oa«
glance was enough, As I have said,
every man has more or less of the savage
him, and my savage again assumed
the mastery. I have been angry many
times in my life; but never quite so angry
as then.
Whose features did the light make
apparent to me? A dark-faced, s nail
eyed, sbort-haired villain? alow-browed
cut-throat? Not at all! It was the se
rene and smiling countenance of my
nephew, Mr. Percy F. Jenkins, the only
one of my kin I had ever taken any in
terest in. Even the smirches of soot on
his face—the marks of my fingers,
doubtless—could not hide his identity
or his pleasant smile. Dropping to sea
me, on a vacation from college, he had
seen fit to lessen my life at least ten
years by one of his college antics.
“Forgive me, uncle,” he cried; “I've
been to picnics, but this tops them all!”
For answer I threw an old violoncello
at his head, He dodged, the match
went out, and I hoped the scapegrace
would not be able to find the door. But
he did. What would I have given for a
stout rattan and a chance to lay
it on his rascally carcass! He stum¬
bled down stairs, and I followed
at the top of my speed. I ferveutly
hoped that he would fall or miss his
way, that I might catch him; but he dis¬
appointed me. The last thing I heard
him utter was one of his villainous
chuckles as he swept down the hallway.
I might have passed him, but why,
where? He was moving like a whirl¬
wind, and the savage had good reason
to.
After 11 o’clock that night, while my
aged and faithful housekeeper was apply¬
ing arnica to my bruises and listening to
my narrative of the outrage, there came
a banging on the knocker of my front
door. When the old lady answered the
summons, who stood there but the little
villain, Percy F. Jenking!
“Iteally, uncle,” said he, as he came
into my presence with a sheepish air; “I
didn’t mean to carry the joke Half so far.
Not finding you down stairs when I came
in, I stole up to the attic. There you
were, looking out of the window, with
your back to me. It was an awful tempta¬
tion, uncle.”
I looked at him in silence. The poker
stood just within reach of my right
hand.
“I just thought I’d surprise you, uncle;
and—”
“You did surprise him!” interrupted
the old* lady, confessing her lips. “If
I was your uncle, I Q—* Words failed
her, : and she went on rubbing me with
arnica, wagging . , her head , in awful lndig
nation. .,‘
“lbe truth .... is, uncle, . ,, Percy „ went , on,
“I just put my hands on you—”
“Silence!” I roared.
“Merciful Heavens!” cried the old
lady.
“Of course I owe you a thousand par¬
dons, uncle, aud I’ll cheerfully do any¬
thing in the world to make amends. I’ve
been punished, too. Look at me, uncle.
That old ’cello took off a good deal, of
hair aud cuticle.”
He turned his rascally head to show
me. I observed with inexpressible de¬
light that my aim had been true. A
large lump marked the spot where the
dear old instrument had struck. My
good humor began to return.
“I can hardly walk on my left leg at
all,” continued Percy,
“Good l” cried I.
“Aud, uncle, one of my thumbs is
stiff as a stake.”
I laughed outright.
“Are you hurt badly, uncle?” he ven¬
tured to ask.
“You know I am, you villain 1” said I.
“Can’t I help rub you?”
“If you dare touch me I’ll knock you
down with the poker! How dare you!
Sit down there in the corner!”
“Of all the impudent boys!” cried the
poor old lady.
“Can’t I even play a little for you on
the violin, uncle?”
I looked at him with a scowl.
He took up one of my violins, th«
oldest and the best in my motley collec¬
tion. How delicately he handled the
bow 1 No doubt he will make a player.
Curiously, the first thing he played was
the “Suwarree River”—that typical
American air that addresses the best that
is in us —and played it feelingly. The
rascal knew the way to my heart. Be¬
fore he was half through I forgave him.
After all, no great harm came of the
escapade, and why should I bear him a
grudge? He is young and has many a
struggle for life ahead of him. If they
all terminate as happily as mine, he will
be fo;tunate indeed!”—Pittsburg Bul¬
letin.
Bloody Island, near St. Louis, Mo.,
formerly a retired spot where people
went to fight duels, is now entirely cov¬
ered with railroad tracks.
^WM \A
U
L
'
gQ m
! 'yjf'g 5'i p
.V-'. 9 'Mb b 1 '
FA mm M mm
I k
3HI1 PE am
■*c W/fi
,ic\\V wm Ww/
S mm ii -
f>, S't ‘
N AI
HEW S30PS OP DAVIS SEWING MACHINE CO.
11 13
'■ x; Pissw S ■
■■
WmA
Capacity 400 Machines per Day
FOR TERMS, ETC., ADDRESS
DAYIS SEWING MACHINE CO,
BATrOK 1 , ©. CHICAGO, 2Z.ii.
For Sale bv G W A P Cain.
BRISTOL, ,D
VA..-TENH. A CHRISTIAN ■- • :s-:. ?.t,
HOME
FOR SCHOOL CIRLS.
■h. The most accessible of the Vir¬
ginia advantages Schools. first All order. Collegiate Con¬
of
servatory advantages in MUSIC.
CxT’Terms low. Session begins
Thursday before first Monday in
Sept. For catalogue address
lier. I>. S. HEAKON, Prc4
THE
KV IMF WEIS
Are more readily put up, and more
satisfactory in use, than any other Ball and
Socket Hangers,
°
Des - gn is approv ampie by alI principal practical strains men .
Strength Cups is lifted where without spilling are. oiL
Drip are free any
Adjusting berews are made a good nt.
Boxes are easy to fit up and will not throw oil.
Bolt Slots marked are long enough for good adjustment,
Sizes are on every casting.
—PRICE LIST.—
(Subject to change without notice.)
oS Drop. Drop. Drop. Drop. Drop. Drop.
Diameter. 5S 10-inch 13-inch 16-inch 19-incL 22-inch 25-inch
g.s
a o __lo
I 158
I 1 1 2 1 3-16 7-16 3-16 11-16 15-16 in “ “ “ 6 O’i 7Va m 8>4 • • • : : : tgcoca 8'8-8'S'i id iO t- b- O 8®o§h§8 11 9 25 10 12 00
2 7-16 “ 8 3 l i • : • ~f Od H 50 50 [15 75 75
2 15-16 “ 9 4 __ ,18 19
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. SEITZINGER,
PRINTERS’ SUPPLIES,
DEALER IN
HANGERS, PULLEYS, COUPLINGS, AND ENGINE
BOILERS, NEW AND SECOND-HAND,
SO & 32 W. MITCHEIL ST.. ATLANTA, GA.
mmm f A
i mi I LltfiS
u
1
s» Uli^S^ MANU FAC TU R ER~S ^ 'A , - •,
-v V' „ is r> ill
m ■ S -|!3 r
Xv n
10.000 PER Y E A^J /W^ 9 S mm :.ovM
Fineworki/ MAPEV \ Mi
SEHDFOR(ATAl°GUE‘ .06 OR 6 '/a i
OK (Ml jsr* gQilMlTED;
Chichester-s English, Red Cross Q | i . l|C i N
THE ORIGINAL AND GENUINE. The omly
lAdle«, ufc Dnw« for ChUKMcr:
CHICHESTER
hUknULMtlBnaltlA
M.
HJiuw
Gf'
•fX
V Mi I
M
is
I t ‘ W7&L1 4k___ -
lead
la sll 1
mm \
j
; IMS VI
a. \\ :
•a
O/SLY THe
0 \m PERFEC
S
MMmrn
Is That Sri
WELL, READ THIa
Don’t waste your mote?
cheap sewing machine. reliabll W|
buy, get one that is
will do first-class work, and I
with ordinary care, will lad
time - Therefore >
WHITE SEWING MAH ■ff
I f 5
M'M =p^
m
(is m
mmm
y°u will save money, tim
good ,
patience; and that is , a
when you pause to think oi it.
Live dealers wanted'where
not represented.
WHITE SEWING MACHINE
Cleveland, Ohio.
For Sale by H P & 0 H Aluwi
§»&C §1
f! b £ i"
-a pisui
H^ipi