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LVII.
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Southern Recorder
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March 29, 1887.
28 cw ly
Tired of Rowing.
•I'm weary with rowing with rowing,
The voice rang out sweet and clear
n that saddest and sweetest of songs;
that song so fall of tender longing—of
utter weariness, of impassioned heart
break. “Won’t some one be so kind
as to take the oars, and relieve that
mfTeriiigyoung woman?” said Agatha
•Howe, to her handsome lover, who
dood beside her. “I presume there
are plenty who would be glad to do
so,’’ said lie, “but she sang it so well,
what is the sense in you curling your
P> and growing sarcastic over it?”
"Because she did sing it so well:
wiiat businesss lias she singing such
tongs with such expression? What
ioes she know about rowing? Per
haps she would sing it better.”
"That is not to the point at all.
With far better reason to do so, I
- ouid not sing it half so well. What
1 mean is tins—these words seem
wrung from the very heart, and this
g rl s life is all sunshine; her ideas of
rowing consists in sitting in a carriage
with an opera ' glass in Her hand,
watching nine men in picturesque
1 ostume—and a silver cup at the end
of the race: and yet she sings as
though she had rowed against the
-Me all her life,” "It proves her an
''ist, it proves her an actress.”
“Agatha Howe, you are growing
Her. that young lady may be gifted
* V1 fiU(dl * me sensibilities—^”
. John Hale, you are growing sen-
omental. Go and talk to the gifted
creature five minutes and you will
see! ’
‘Who will present me, will you?”
.v iH I? no; do you think I’ll volun-
-se you to her fascinations?
lazzh
'^arily expose
>ou are dazzled now, and I should
su°n be singing, ‘Thou hast learned
0 love another,’ and with a true ar-
, c ex 'l 1r es8ion too.” “How ab-
t ;:r< T Just then Dr. Mather stepped
'.■P, saying, “Mr. Hale, I cannot tell a
...nit J have been behind the cur-
, ’ ami have overheard your con-
'“rsation; 1 deplore it with tears,
'■nu an honorable man should, and
r t 11 i rettd >’ to|make amends. I can
utroduce you to the prima donna,
♦ nti ■ i ’ llnd ^ you will present me
-o tins lady, 1 will try and console her
b vour absence.”
minute more, and John Hale was
to the fair singer, and Dr.
watner was wondering how a woman
!aid such odd things, happened
f °und in a parlor full ofyoung
1 ople who were laughing and talk-
!,® a n d flirting after the most ap-
roved party fashion. He had heard
comments on the singer, and
* would be worth while to
- £ artb er. He said:
Miss Howe, I am waiting for you
‘ c '. sa V something.”
»rJnUi7 let me say that I do not
i T, ad niire gentlemen who stand
,,^ nd the curtains and listen.”
Such an act would not indicate
- 8y e o-t nobility of character, 1
leaf ’ 8,1111 lle “hut it was an acci-
•nithfu^" 1 can prove—don’t I look
, ^ er y; and I’ll acquit you,” she
^iss Howe, will you dance?”
evpv°lu * you.* 1 am tired; how-
;twill serve.” DOt luy true reason > but
a y I ask your true reason?”
^ es, I'll tell you, hut I trust to
your honor not to betray it."
“I swear.”
“Well I have on iny best thin gown
and it would not endure being step
ped upon."
“Do I look so awkward?”
“Truth compels me to say that you
do not look absolutely awkward, but
a man inay smile and be a villain.”
Dr. Mather looked a little annoyed,
and almost wished himself behind the
tfurtain again. He looked at her
dress, it was soft, and fine, and white.
He gave her face a strong look, he
•aw nothing remarkable, only a pale,
fair face—dark brown eyes, and softly
flowing hair. There was no look of
self-assertion or pertness, but a brave,
strong, womanly spirit shone in the
eyes; and he thought to himself, she
is strong-minded in the best possible
sense. She is strong enough to bear
discouragement and disappointment,
without repining. He fancied she
knew what rowing meant, her candor
in speaking of herself had no tinge of
bitterness, and what in another wo
man might have been out of taste,
seemed in her simple, unaffected hon
esty. All this he thought quickly,
serenely, unconciouB that he was also
being weighed in the balance, and
that with a penetration fully as keen
as his own she was making up her
mind about Mm. 1 ■ 11
"If you will'hot dance, and T honor
your sense in refusing, whatever be
your reason, ff you’ll walk with me
upon the verandah, I’ll promise not to
step on your flounces.”
“Please get my shawl for ine—you
can find it easily, for it is—”
“I shall know it.”
“How, pray?”
“I fancy it will look like you. It is
one of my notions that character is
expressed in clothes. Your shawl will
be blue—”
“Oh! wise young judge, your idea is
a poetical one, and ought to he true,
but it isn't. Find the brightest scar
let shawl you can and bring it to me.
It was given to me; I have to wear
it, which is hard, and be grateful,
which is worse, and remember that
women who dress unbecomingly are
not always to blame. The fates are
too strong for them.”
When it was found and adjusted, he
said, “Miss Howe, I skid your shawl
should be blue. Perhaps your friend
was wiser than me, fori am ready to
sw ear that You should wear nothing
but scairlet.”
Then followed an hour’s walk and a
S ong conversation upon subjects sel
lout discussed at evening parties.
;eon from
ittle rest,
. U..UOT.. Mu»jDg of books,
of art, and of the profession he loved
so well, with a genuine enthusiasm.
Agatha, somehow felt, that parties
were delightful things, and tliis one
most enjoyable.
Then John Hale came.up with Miss
Grey on his arm, he looked a trifle re
morseful, and she full of polite imper
tinence, profuse in her excuses for hav
ing kept Mr. Hale from liis duty so
long. Agatha wondered how the
audacious little beauty dared to utter
such pointless sarcasms, and not con
sidering her a foe worthy of her
steel, .coolly hade them good night,
and appropriating Mr. Hale to her
self, as by right, was speedily on her
way home. He was preqpcupied;
she was glad he was, it relieved
her from the necessity of talking.
Agatha’Howe had had a fatherless
childhood; when'she was grown to
early girlhood her mother wearied
and lay down to rest beside her dead
husband; and left burdens hard to he
borne upon Agatha's shoulders. Those
seasons which we love to think
should be care free, were full of real
and practical anxiety. While .other
girls were revelling- in gay dresses,
and singing “Father will settle the
bill," she was studying domestic econ
omy, trying to make one dollar do the
work of two—turning her old dresses
new ones for the two sisters, who into
were at once her care and her comfort,
trying with a true womanly fondness
for a fair appearance, to make “auld
does look amaist as weeks the new.
She had no talent for being a martyr
—and she often hated herself and the
weary work she was forced to do.
But she fought herself resolutely—
knowing that the promise is to thq?e
who “overcome.” She had been
teaching for five years—had placed
two sisters at school—and looked for
ward to the time they should grad
uate, and be prepared to enter upon
tiie glory of school-teaching, or some
other equally dazzling destiny. Then
she thought her season of rest would
coine.
When her troubles and cares were
heaviest she nlet John Hale, and in
spite of all the. disadvantages about
her life, he fell in love with her. She
was so full of gratitude to him, so
glad of the love that brought some
thing like sunshine into her darkness,
that she fully believed herself in love
with him. No other love had come
to teach her the difference, and if she
ever fancied hhn impatient and ex
acting, she thought the faults more
than balanced by the virtues she was
sure he possessed. It had not been
convenient for him to marry till his
position as a lawyer was secured.
Now that was attained, he was grow
ing impatient under her steady re
solve not to marry till her duties to
her sisters were fufilled: and without
the slightest conception of the grand
eur of her sacrilices for duty s sake
he looked upon himself as def rauded
and wronged, and pitied himself hear
tily. He was a selfish man, without
the slightest consciousness of being
so, the most diilicult character in life
to convince or persuade.
To night, ne they wulked along, he
could not help wishing Agatha, a little
softer iu speech, a little inpre yielding
in temper:■ or as lie lpid once 9? twice
said to her, a “little uioruRk® other
/oiks.” :
The next morning, Mrs. Jones’ voles
roused Agatha to a consciousness that
breakfast was waiting; that her room
Vres strewed with the relics of last
Might’s dissipation; that there vm a
problem in Algebra to be solved for a
careless pupil—in short, that she was
a school-ma'am in whose life there
was little room for dreaming.
“Well, Hies Agatha, did you have
a pleasant party?”
very. 11
“Did all tne ladies all look pretty?
“Yes, very.”
“Ar’nt you glad you went?”
“Yes, very.”
Mrs. Jones was a horn talker, and
she could not understand how any
one could go to a patty, ahd not
have a great deal to tell about it.
She was anxious to know who was
there; what they wore, and chief of all,
what they had for refreshments; but
saying to herself, “Don’t seem much
inclined to talk, guess I won’t- bother
her;” she also consoled herself with
wishing that “Miss Agatha was a lit
tle more like other folks,” though the
worthy woman loved her well, as she
had good reason to do. If Agatha
h(ul been good, “Hke other folks,” she
might have put aside her dislncliha-
tion to talk, and been entertaining,
but she had a habit of saying that
she had a talent for silence, whioh,
seeing it was so rare, ought to be cul
tivated. So she ate her breakfast In
heartless indifference to the curiosity
visible in the whole deportment of the
anxious matron.
Then to school: Coining home at
night, her hands full of floral offer
ings from tlie children, she was mak
ing ineffectual attempts to open the
gate without hands, when Dr. Mather
crossed the street towards her. She
was tempted not to look up, but he
did not wait; “Good evening, Miss
Howe, is this where you live?”
“I don’t live, I hoard,”
“There is a difference, I admit; but
is this where you board?”
“You may safely infer that it Is; I
would hesitate t6 enter any other
house, with the dust, and weariness,
and vexations of the school-room
clinging to me, as they do now; but
Mrs. Jones is used to it."
“I see flowers blossom in your path.”
“Yes; they are peace-offerings; when
the children have been particularly
troublesome, to heal the wounds they
crown me with flowers, or comfort me
with apples; but I am tired, please
open the gate for me.”
“I want you to ask me in.”
“I am too tired; don’t you see that
it will take me a little while to shake
off my school-ma’am air? to take off
the calico of my life, and put on the
lawn?”
“May I come when that transform
ation shall have taken place?”
“Yes.”
“Dear me, Miss Agatha, you look
tired out; let me take the ilowers and
arrange them, while you go right to
your room and rest.”
Mrs. Jones had taste as well as cu
riosity, and Agatha was glad to resign
them to her hands, confident that in
their plain little sitting-room, they
would shine a thing of beauty.
It is the rule now-a-days, to rail at
the fashions—to say that the styles
are absurd—that so much ornament
detracts from, rather than add# to,
beauty, but Minerva herself, if clad
in a gingham gown, would he despis
ed and rejected—passed by for some
doll in white muslin. Not for this
reason—though with many it lias its
weight—but because she had an ar
tist’s love for the graceful and appro
priate, Agatha wished as she dress
ed, that she possessed more of pretty
trifles that complete and adorn a wo
man's toilet. It grieved her that she
had no sash that matched her dress,
and it was a source of grief that the
ribbon for her hair was not the right
shade.
Grave matters for a duty loving
woman, “but human nature prevails
pretty extensively.'’
However, she looked well, with an
expectant light in her eyes that be
came her wonderfully well. Going
down to the sitting-room, she found
her new friend in conversation witli
Mrs. .Tones, delighting that lady by
listening patiently to neighborhood
gossip, and taking a lively interest in
the construction of a rag-carpet which
was just then an absorbing topic with
her. Agatha interrupted a serious
discussion as to the relative merits of
different colors, turning the conversa
tion to subjects upon which she fblt
more at home.
It was a delightful evening to both.
They could hardly have told what
was said, yet she said enough to prove
to him that her hard work-a-day life,
had not robbed her soul of its sweet
ness; that her inind was cultivated,
that her heart was true—that she
g ossessed enduring riches. She,found
im one who worked earnestly, and
whose heart was'in his |work, a man
of strong principles, of large sympa
thies, loving God, ami loving and
helping all His creatures. His life
rides, and
The days
vacation came’f pionies,
excursions were common. W
were brighten and pleasanter than
they had ever been. Mho thought It
was because she was outbf sehbol, and
fauoied that her transoient freedom
from care was bringing an unusual
pleasure with it. Hale was devoted
to her, and was again urging their im
mediate marriage. Dr. Mather lln-
Mred, he had-'heard of her engage
ment; she had almost told him herself,
in a half-jesting way, and with a little
tremble in her voice that told its own
story. He admired her above any
woman; nay more, he knew that he
loved her, but so unselfishly as to de
sire for her the greatest good. What
we greatly wish we try to believe to
be true, so he clung to the belief that
the report was simply village gossip,
and that he had misinterpreted her
half-confessions. At all events, I10
decided that since he had given her
his love, it was her due to know it, let
her do with the gift as she would.
One beautiful moonlight evening
they were out on the lake; she was
rowing wjtli him; trying witli laugh
ing, and talking, and singing, to break
the spell the scene, with all the ten
der influences, -fas weaving about
Presently, h^ phfd, ®‘Do yon know
tnia. foment recalls
^s-ion of you? lour
ed me to wonder if wo
jffrqgtat or a womai
your occu
my first
harp remar
Ad a female!
ater at oui 1
tie party, so I ste
pped
>k at
out of my position to take a loo
you, and I found you fair to see; Aga
tha, ar’nt you weary of rowing?”
“Yes.” *
“May I take the oars?”
“If you choose.—It Is such a novel
thing for me to rest when tired, that
I may safely indulge it.”
“Agatha, understand all I mean;
wQl yon lay down the oars, darling,
and let me row for you always? Will
you not rest your tired hands, and
trust to mine? Will you come to the
arms that are stronger, for oh! Agn
tha. I love you! I love you!”
“Great heavens! I thought you
knew! 1 am not free.. I have almost
told you!’’
“I know—but you love me!”
Then she told him quickly all the
story of her early life, its trials, and
its work; of her engagement to John
Hale; of what his love and care had
been to her, and said:
“I cannot tell him who has waited
■o patiently that he has watted in
vain. If I loved you, as yoti dare say
I do, I would not break my word for
your sake—if I were a man, I would
sooner take a viper to my bosom than
one of broken vows. No, my friend,
tht/.vs a sweet word—friend—take
me horned and say good-bye to me.”
With a pitiful attempt at a laugh,
“Go back to your broken bones, to
your work of healing.
“And carry a broken heart, and a
wound that will not heal. I will say
good-bye to you kindly, since you
kindly, hid me go, and since I love
you so, will hope that the heart
you lean upon may prove as strong
and true as yours; yet, though my
soul is full of sorrow, there is faith in
my farewell, and love is strong to
hope and—wait.”
Home again, Agatha sat that, night
and] thought long and sadly of how
strange it all was. She had a glimpse
of the sweet possibilities of life, had
seen for a moment what might have |
been. Then she resolutely put away 1
her summer dreams, and entered a- j
gain upon lier dull routine duties. I
Dr. Mather she did not see again. 1
He went back to his work. He too,
had been so near the one great, chance
of happiness, and reaching his hand ]
fo grasp it, had found it elude and j
llee from him. The bitterness in life I
often consists in this, that the sweet j
jovs of earth, come so near that we see I
all’ their grace and beauty—realize all ;
that they can bring to us—and^ then I
see them pass us by forever. Surely j
“almost” is'the saddest word we utter.
Agatha's sisters were progressing:
she thought, “another year, and my J
work for them will be done; another j
year and I shall have won the rest
that is waiting for me.” She blamed
herself for the cloud that had risen
between her and Hale—a cloud of
whose existence he was ignorant,
and because she so blamed herself,
she atoned by increased frankness,
and tenderness of manner towards
him. He, conscious ot this, was at
tentive and devoted to her; the win
ter passed away, and summer came
again. Miss Grey again visited the
little town, and Agatha saw that in
“And bufden you with my unful
filled duties?’’
“Bother your diities! If you’d think
md^ of me and lets of Others, I should
feel; coihpllmedt*). 1 I tell vou Vm
tifeo of waiting, 'and who knows If
the consummation of our engagement
would bring ut the happtness ^e de
sire?"
He watohed her face to see the ef
fect of his words.
“If y«t have any doubts, you knew
tba remedy. If you And It lu your
heart to give my plaoe to any other
woman, yon can do so. I would not
hold it longer!”
“Agatha, I do honestly think you’d
he happier to be free. It would give
you a chance to Indulge In your fond
ness for duty doing, undisturbed—and
may be, make you altogether happier;
you have worn bonds so long.”
The man was trying to cloak his
selfishness under a pretense of care
for her. She drew the ring from her
finger, and without a word laid it in
his hand. She could not talk; words
were so empty. She was wondering
in her heart wliut God could mean
by giviug her such hitter return for
her own self-denial.
•He took th* ring; was disappointed
that she .dtd’hot make more ado;
thought he* release a poor return for
all his pAHenoe; made - im tils mind
that she was all to blalne for It, any-
way.
Three months later he married Miss
Grey, and took himself and his wife
m
to the olty to live,
4 " Q+H a’A sisters
entering upon the work they
Agatha's sisters graduated; apd > in
stead of
elp
had
the
life, he diffused about him.
ons and unselfish, th
safely trust in him.
Late in the evening Hale came, as
was his habit. It would have pleas
ed him better to have found Agatha
waiting alone for him; and lie felt al
most injured that she should be so
happy where he was not.
So the summer went by. Agatha’s
had been prepared for, the little
wretches were both married directly
after graduating. They both offered
her a home, but she dung to Mrs.
Jones and the rag-carpeted room.
The carpet was Mrs. Jones’ special
pride, and it held woven in its gay
stripes memories of that first pleasant
call, and Agatha’s eyes seldom rested
upon it hut the evening came hack,
fresh as though it were not years
gone by. She often wondered why
she had been permitted to make the
mistake she had. She saw now that
we may sin against ourselves and
othefi, under the name ■ of duty; but
sbw saww tt'so, that»often through
sllali mistakes we are led,to a firmer
trnst, a higher .life, than would be
possible without. a
. Increase of salary and decrease of
expense*,-iiogsther with a moderate
legacy froia a considerate relative,
lifted many eares, and opened many
new sources of pleasure. She had
leisure for books, and music, and
travels *
and con
that
long since worn away; but nut with
out many weary days, In which she
felt that even God hail forgotten her.
She was growing old, twenty-nine;
and though there were no wrinkles In
her forehead, and the crow’s feet
kept an obliging distance, she felt it a
kind of deception to look so young
and he so old. She hail scruples u-
bout wearing blue ribbons, and was
afraid she would he convicted of try
ing to look young and girlish. She
noticed that nor friends were particu
lar to say, “you young folks,” in talk
ing to her, and knew they looked up
on her destiny as manifest. She saw
“the heads of girls go sunny sweet
and fast under gifts of bridal blos
soms,” and accepted her own fate.
Again it was vacation, and she had
resolved upon a visit to one of her
early friends. She thought of, plan
ned and decided upon it all, before
another woman would have selected
lier travelling dress, and was soon on
her way, drawing in delight with ev
ery breath of the sweet summer uir.
Enjoying to the utmost the swift
glimpses of lovely soenery, she was
realizing that only those who know
uU the meaning of work, can ever
know the full meaning of leisure.
Suddenly there was a ringing of the
bell, the whistle of “down brakes,”
the conductor rushed through the car,
men looked out the windows—women
turned pale, anil a jar —a crash—and
all the consciousness of the blue sky—
the summer morning—and sweet life
had faded out. Agatha woke to find
herself half buried under rubbish,
witli such sounds in her ears as she
did not know earth could hold. Lit
tle by little she found that she was
not injured, only stunned and bruis
ed. Soon some one helped to extri
cate her, and she looked about upon
a scene of horror and death: muu, wo
men and children crying out in their
When the twilight was deepening.
Dr. Mather came to her again, saying,
“There Is some one in the depot dj
ing, and he calls your name ; will you
go with mo to see him?”
She went. In a room made comfort
able as possible, she found a tuati in
the last agonies. His visage was mar
red, hut sue recognized John Hale.-
He cried out: “Agatha, you have
come in my sorest need, as I knew
you would 1 I am dying; forgive ine
before I go. And, Agatha, kneel and
pray for me, He will near you.
Right down by the
Man, amid such strange sights'and
y the side of the dying
11 strange sights'and
sounds, Agatha knelt, Imploring GodV
grace and help.
“Let me see your face. Oh! I wrong
ed you!”
“John, listen -I forgive. You did
me no wrong; if you did, I forgave it
long ago. I reel as your sister might,
kneeling by your side. Don’t think
of me: tell mt* what to say to your
wife; t will see her, and take your
words to her.”
“Tell her—tell het—kiss rue, Aga
tha.” Ami as she’ bent over him.
death came.
Dr. Mather stood like one bewilder
ed. CThtil that hour, I10 had thought
her liis wife. He heard of Hale’s mar
riage, and never tllQhght it could he
‘ft ‘
any other; and .
dream, wonder^
left of the woir
tha, like one in u
ore was anything
ho started that
easant ahtlcipu-
spite of duty and honor, Hale was 1 agony, or happily unconscious of suf-
growing infatuated with her. | fering. An impediment on the track
She was a beauty, was amiable and ‘ had thrown the train off. Those who
though frivolous, possessed the showy ’ J
accomplishments that are a passport
in society, and which turn the heads
and bewilder 1 the hearts of foolish and
wise alike. She was an actress, and
made no move without motive. Site
spread her net carefully, and deter
mined, that this second summer she
would take Hale captive—this sum
mer should see the decline and fail of
Agatha Howe’s reign. There are few
things, such a woman—vain and un
scrupulous, cannot accomplish, and
she did '
were uninjured, with hundreds from
the nearest station, were soon taking
from the ruins the unfortunate suf
ferers. Agatha blessed God for strong
nerves, and with her own hands work
ed with the rest. Physicians and
surgepns vtere telegraphed for, and
soon the depot and houses near were
Ailed with the dekd, the dying, and
the injured.
In one of these houses, Agatha was
ministering to a suffering woman,
when she heard a voice saying:
“Lay him down here;” and looking
up she saw Dr. Mather. He knew lier,
and said, “You here, and safe?”
“Yes, let me help!”
by a temporary blindness, 4 ‘There is work here, such as you
and that he would awake; it did not have never done/’
He gave her directions, and under
them she worked skilfully. She bound
up many a wound ; she stood by many
a sufferer while hones were set and
wounds were dressed; and when the
night came she had closed the eyes
and covered the faces of many who
started that morning as glad and
hopeful as she.
morning so (liU bf ‘p.
tions, wondetlng |f she were Indeed
the same, and hpt another.
With one Impulse they turned to
each other.
Agatha, I aui blinded anil bewil
dered. Have the horrors of the day
turned my brain? I thought when !
brought you here, that it was your
husband who called for you.”
“No, he married Miss Grey tlirec
years ago.”
And you, you think I have not
proved that there was faith in my
farewell—hut I did not know. What
have you been doing all these years.
Agatlio.”
“I’ve been rowing.”
“May 1 take the oars?” The old
question she hod never hoped to hear
again—this tiipe the answer came.
“TAke them, oh! take them, for I am
Weary.” It was a strange place for
tender words of love, but never on
moonlit lake, or love’s walk, were
words so welcome. The full moon
shone out soft and clear. The dread
ful traces of death and ruiu were fast
being removed. In their hearts the
dead past was burying its dead. In
their lives the full moon was indeed
risen.
Agatha felt her sorrows fade before
the blissful present, aud Dr. Mather
counted the years as nothing “be-
cause of the lov" he had for-her.”
4 OAnixusr*'Pkrrt. ..
PATENTS GRANTED
To citizens of the Southern States during
the past week, and reported expressly for
the Union it Recorder by C. A. Snow Jk Co.,
Patent lawyers, Opp. U. S. Patent Office,
Washington, D. 0.
Andrew II. Adams, Clio, S. C., Sash
fastener.
P. S. Basnett, Basnett, W. Yu.,
Gate.
W. H. Baynaril, Baltimore, Mil.,
Riding saddle.
C. Billups, Norfolk, Va., Plow.
J. M. Brosius, Atlanta, Gu., Vehicle
axle.
W. A. Buckton, Covington. Ivy..
Rain water cut off.
C. W. Campbell. J. .T. Hill, \V. E.
Dodd. Rose Mill, Va., Reel for display
ing A; measuring <lry goods.
L. Campbell, Alexandria., Yu., Float
for water gage tubes.
StevenL. Carpenter, Moscow, Team.
Gin Brake.
J. E. Clay tor, Wheeling, W. Vu„
Extensible ladder.
Richard L. Cox, Greenville, N. C.,
Whiffletree.
P. Cunningham, Brightwater. Ark..
Game carrier.
James H. Daniel, Paris, Ky., Cutter
bar.
A. Dennis, Franklin, Tenn., Back
hand hook.
W. H. Dillon, Elktou, Ky., Hand
saw.
Geo. S . Elliott, Mobile, Ala.. Auto
matic railway switch.
Win. Exner, Harper’s Ferry. W.
Va., Cut off & spout.
Arther C. Jordan, Era, Va., Paper
box.
Jas. Kenedy, Franklin, Ky., Check
row attachment for corn planters.
Chas. Kerrison. Charleston, S. C.,
Barbed nailorspiks.
J. B. Mahaffey, Baltimore, Md..
Planing and matching machine.
J. A. Mitchell, A W. B. Thomas.
Westminster, Md.. Bag fastener.
Asbury F. Samford, & C. H. Peevy.
Calhoun, Ala., Cotton chopper.
Joseph M. Shin, Adatnsville, W.
Va., Portable desk.
Jessey T. Sutton, A G. M. Terry,
Sharon Tenn., Bridle.
Sallie A. Wells, Annapolis, Md..
Thimble.
her work untroubled by that
annoyance we call conscience.
Agatha saw it all; saw that her pow-
been prosperous and happy, and e r was waning, or rather thought him i
sunshine that came into liis own stricken bv a temporary blindness, 1
Gener-
• could enter into her idea of the possibles,
I that he would utterly fail her; so she
was unprepared for what he said to
her one night:
“Agatha, I am tired of waiting, I
want a home.”
“I am tired of waiting; and oh! I
sorely want a home.”
“Marry me, then, next month.”
Judge W. F. Jenkins, of Entontou.
is in tne city, a guest of the Hotel La
nier. He is presiding in the Superior
court forjudge Simmons, who is suf
fering from an attack of neuralgia.—
Judge Jenkins is a man of distinction
and ability, anil one of the purest
men on the bc-neli. He is a flue pre
siding officer, and wears the Judicial
ermine with distinction.-Macon News.
The St. Louis Globe-Democrat is of
the opinion that “the beverage of the
future is water.”
