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BHBHH —Detroit Free. Press.
HBr how he was cured.
;§gß TT whs not "afiT medial prescription
BB that diil the work; his difliculty was be
■Myond that. It had shown itself in
troublesome aeute attacks front hi* boy
hood tip. and since marriage had settled
down into a slow chronic annoyance;
|||B but, as I said, he was cured at la-t. The
beginning of the end happened in this
■r wise.
Delia Gray and Mrs. Russell were hav-
B ,n n j us t the coziest time possible one
B wqjumer afternoon, one on the sofaread-
B ing aloud from Pickwick Papers, the
B other in an easy chair with her feet on a
B divan, knitting and chatting be-
the lines; for they v. ere old
BOSMffTrffnia'es, and perfectly al home with
Bach >ihei '.dr. Benjamin Russell came
|BB <! ffi.il> the oiliee and foun 1 them so. in-
that he must put a cushion under
B' each head >o make them thetery picture
■ of comfort, then seated himself between
L them and treated them to a basket
■ ? of cherries and an amusing account of
his day’s.ad ventures. He did his very
B* prettiest, Mnd that was no small thing.
lie Might have written three volumes
Br «‘3ii the Art of Pleasing,” added an ap-
Itendix equal to the original, and still
tad a <fqw facts too choice to waste on
the public deft over for his own private
use.
And just now there was a particular
reason. Miss Delia had said “No” to
him once. Mrs. Benjamin more than
half suspected the fact, Mr. Benjamin
was still very much aware of it; and now
that she and Jennie proved to be old
friends, and she was at his home for the
first time, prettier and saucier than ever,
it was policy in him to show that scorn
ful young damsel how much she had
v missed.
After the cherries were gone, and he
had duly apologized for interrupting
L them (although lie knew they would
Us fifty times rather have his chat than their
reading) he betook himself to the back
with a cigar and a newspaper..
just as he was going he caught sight
HBf the blue yarn.
B “Great Jupiter! why you will tire your
|W fingersover that coarse stuff? I'd rather
wear ragged stockings to the day of my
B death than to have you! I protest I
' had, and with that he was gone.
The smile that tried to come into the
i wife’s face died away in the corners of
k her lip to a scornful curve. She did not
1 ntend it should, but she had heard a
P great deal of such trash— when other
* people listening. He never wasted
on her at any other time.
®M«r''“Het- just an angel!” Delia said,
HHBHtden he was almost out of hearing.
-On tin wheels," her friend added
and flu v went on with the
iJV.-NO. 41,
Dolton Slrqusß
once, half bitterly-she had been digging
in the garden at the tune of year when
l ’ throe "great white worms turn into
beetles, and was crawling a little at the
loathsome half-developed things—“ Just
like marriage, for all the world. They
don’t live any kind of a life down in the
ground, not a quarter of a life, but once
out of it they run the risk of thumping
their brains out against a wall, of being
e eaten by the fowls, or of getting a needle
through their hearts.” That was the
worst”she was ever known to say.
f She was not blind. She knew just as
well as if she had been told that all those
evenings when her husband said he had
“pressing business with Mr. Darwin—
had to wait four hours to see him and
then attend to the business after
e wards,” he had been quietly playing
chess with pretty Miss Darwin all the
time, while the unconscious papa
dreamed of bonds and per cent. When
f the same thing took him away half the
evenings in the month, she despised him
that he could look her in the face and
3 say, “business.” She did not care
about the chess. She had never im
n agined that when he promised “leaving
ail others to cleave to her alone” it
1 meant a vow to forego all social privi
leges; but “it was sneaking make-be
, lieve” she said to herself. And then to
come home and, if his mother was there,
t says he was “so sorry that pesky tor
e menting business kept him away and
left her at home to prose over the mend
ing and never have a good time!” The
, soft lying was what she did wish he
could be broken of. It exasperated her
’ so!
But, as I said, she never blasphemed
marriage because her own had found as
many thorns as roses. She knew it was
1 not the State but the people.
If Mr. and Mrs. Grey, over at the
1 corner, believed, as they seemed to, that
r wedlock on earth was inferno enough to
preclude the need of any hereafter, that
was only one side of it. There was sweet
Mrs. Marshall who made her home a
paradise, and whose husband grew deep
er in love with her every day of his life
with an intense unspeakable loyalty;
there were Mr. and Mrs. Hall, who had
been married fifteen years and whose
honeymoon was still in the first quarter.
Mrs. Russell was too sensible to blame
the condition, if it did prove uncomforta
ble for her. And the discomfort went on.
He came home one noon and found her
roasting on every gridiron in her kitchen,
in a stifling atmosphere, tired and
flushed, with an odor of soups and des
serts about her. Miss Delia was grace
fully swinging in a hammock in a con
veniently near bay window, and it w r as
too good an occasion to be lost. So,
with his habitual company-gallantry and
a few extra grains thrown in for spice,
he said:
“ My darling; it’s a shame to have you
sweltering in this Nebuchadnezar’s fur
nace on such a fiendish day, getting din
ner for us brutes. By Jove! I’d rather
come home every day and find you sit
ting in the big rocking chair with a palm
leaf fan, and eat a cold crust of bread,
on my soul I had.” And he lifted a ket
tle for her byway of emphasis, and left
a huge black mark on his clean white
vest. After which mishap he betook
himself to Delia, still protesting about
the cold crust.
And Mrs. Benjamin said a pieasant
word, flushed a little redder, and kept
up a prodigious thinking. Their guest
went away on the evening train. She
came down radiant in ultramarine ash
ribbons and cheeks that glowed as nat
ural a pink as if it all came from
fresh emotions, and not from ten min
utes’ application of fresh mullein leaves.
Mr. Russell went with her, of course, to
see that she had a seat, and to get her
some oranges and magazines with which
to shorten the ride. Mrs. Russell stayed
at home to wash the dishes, as any duti
ful wife would, but still kept up the
prodigious thinking.
The next noon he came home to din
, ner hungry as a bear, opened the dining
room door, saw the chairs set up, the
dishes as usual, and two crusts of cold
bread the only edible thing in sight. He
stared in the greatest astonishment; not
a hint of anything else. He opened the
kitchen door; perfect order rpigned
there, not a kettle in sight, no odor of
fresh meat, no sign of dinner! He was
getting angry. “What is all this blast
ed business about? Jennie! Jen-n-i-e!”
he called, but no answer came. J-e-n
--n-i-e!” in prolonged indignation as he
neared the parlor. “J-a-n-e!” He was
very angry, or he would never have used
that name.
There in the coolness of the bay-win
dow she sat in the easiest chair, wasting
her time. No knitting or mending in
her hands, not even a*tiovel, only an
enormous fan that she was using as if all
the leisure of eternity was at her dispo
sal. He was indignant in every nerve.
“Confound it, Jane, what does al/this
■mn?” he siJd L sternly. J J
DALTON, GEORGIA, SATURDAY, MAY 27, 1882.
; Os course, once in a great while his old.
i habit returns, but he soon recollects him
> self. He never said to her in so many
i words that he should like to pull up
t stakes and begin over again, but he acted
it. She is not the woman ever to hint
i cold crusts to him, but all the more his
i conscience seems to do it. Her respect
; for him grows. People say: “Poor
man! she did not encourage or appreci
ate his devotion. She was so cold he has
given up in despair.”
She smiles softly to herself, and likes
the present sincerer way a great deal
better.— Woman's Journal.
A Flood Sufferer.
“Do you attend to out of town mat
ters,” asked a tall, carelessly dressed
individual, walking into the city editor’s
room and assuming a “stained glass”
attitude against one of the tapestry hung
walls. “Now and then,” said the city
editor, “what is your trouble?”
“Well, you see, 1 just arrived from
the South,” said the visitor, helping him
self to an Eastlake chair, and stretching
his feet out comfortablv on one of the
Turkish rugs. “I own—that is, I used to
own—a plantation not far from New
Orleans. Now, I own a lake ”
“Then you come from the flooded dis
tricts?” said the editor, growing inter
ested.
“Right from the very middle of ’em,”
said the visitor, curling one long, thin
limb over the other; and proceeding to
shave off a chew of tobacco from a very
black looking piece of plug. “I tell
you, sir, it’s dreadful down there, and
the thing came on us so sudden like.
Why, I w r oke up one morning and found
ducks sailing around my bed and our
pet hog perched on the mantelpiece puff
ing like a steamboat on a mud bank.
How that hog ever got up there lays ’em
out. Well, the water was arising and a
rising, and before long we had to take
to the roof and there we stayed for fifteen
days.”
“Fifteen days!” said the editor, in
surprise.
“ Yes, sir; fifteen days, and we
couldn’t get anything to eat for the last
five, except the moss that sprouted up
atween the shingles. Well, my wife got
awful thin like and so did the children,
and I kinder fell away myself.”
“Well, I should remark,” said the
editor, grind j.
“Yes, you see a moss diet ain’t no
way fillin’,” said the visitor.
“ AVhy didn’t you swim out?” asked
the editor.
“ There was the trouble,” said the
visitor. “You see there ain’t no plan
tation nigh onto ten mile from ours, and
I calculated that would be too much of
a pull for me. I reckon I’m a good
swimmer, but I didn’t care to tackle
that ten mile. Well, we’d got down to
our last shingle, and there wasn’t a
smitch o’ moss on that roof big ’nongh
to wad a shotgun with. Our youngest
had been given the last bit, and he set
there on the chimney chewing it up and
lookin’ like a hand-organ monkey down
in his luck, when I see a little cloud way
across the the water. I didn’t say nothin’
for a moment, but knew pretty well
what that could meant, and I watched it
like a nigger would a coon. Well, she
grew larger, and I made sure it were a
steamboat. Then I kinder whispered it
quiet like to the old woman. Well, she
took one look and then flopped over in
a dead faint, and afore I could grab her
she rolled down the roof into the water.
Well, that was the last of her.”
“You don’t mean to say you let her
drown?” said the editor.
“ Well, you see, boss,” said the visitor,
“ I was so weak I knew it was death for
both on us for me to go after her, and to
make matters worse she pulled in our
youngster with her. 1 tell you we we’re
having tough times down our way’. At
last somebody on the steamboat saw us
and they took as aboard, but Host every
thing, not to say nothin’ about part of
my family. Well, they took us up to
New Orleans and I scraped up cash
enough to come North, and here I am.”
“ But what did you come North for?”
asked the editor.
“ Well, you see they put me on a Re
lief Committee, and I’m on here to raise
funds for the sufferers.”
“ O, you are,” said the editor, edging
his chair back and looking sharp at the
visitor.
“Yes, I see you newspaper fellows
was throwin’ out lots of sympathy for
us, and I just thought I’d tackle the
press first, and then work down through
the other professions.”
“ Very thoughtful in you,” said the
editor.
“ Yes, after I’ve got your contributions
I’ll just see whether the churches are
good for anything,” said the visitor.
“ AVait a moment,” said the editor,
walking over to the telephone, and then
he called the instrument “ Connect
Eatfe with police headquarters,” but
the relief committee didn’t wait for the
repl Brooklyn Eagle.
a recent meeting of the French
• ru'f, the chatty- wiiii-h
ie-' lfi French ,
-
The District School.
Twenty-six years ago a young girl was
employed by the directors of a country
district school to teach the school for the
winter. The girl was so young, and
withal so frail in appearance, that there
were many misgivings as to her success
in teaching. But it was soon found that
her slight frame was but the support of
a mind so pure and earnest, coupled with
a will so strong, that what had been a
disorderly school was at once reduced to
obedience—an obedience born of love
and respect, and therefore far more com
plete than the most stringent rule of an
iron hand could have compelled, anti
which, under the clear-headed guidance
of the teacher, resulted in such an ad
vancement in the path of knowledge as
that school had never known.
. With a prayerful conscientiousness the
young girl returned to her task each
day, and there bent every energy to the
faithful performance of her duties, total
ly forgetting herself in her work, and
doing it with only one thought—that of
earning a deserved “well done” from a
higher than any human court; and daily
the children met her to gather from her
lips fresh lessons of love and truth
lessons taught as only the pure and true
can teach them.
For once the childrens’ parents proved
to be not wholly indifferent; the enthusi
asm of the school room was carried
home; a meeting of the Board of Di
rectors was called, the condition of the
school thoroughly examined, and the
teacher—in her inexperience, trembling
for fear she had left some duty unper
formed—was notified that her salary
was increased by a half ! Well, did her
energy slacken,* now that her probation
was past? Not in the least. On the
contrary, while she worked no harder
than before, for that was impossible, yet
her work was better done on account
both of the experience gained and of the
steady and united support of her
patrons; and when the term closed, the
tears of teacher and pupils were mingled
in that sorrow at separation which only
youth and childhood know.
But this term was not to be the last.
As the young girl grew into womanhood
she was repeatedly recalled to this coun
try school, and the children which had
gathered round her as boys and girls of
ten and twelve, grew under her care to
the age and qualifications necessary for
their admittance to college, and to-day
those of that little band who are left—
for many, very many, have passed from
earth forever—look back upon those
school-days of childhood with the feel
ing that the whole of life—aye, the
whole of eternity—has been sweetened
and purified by the unselfish labors of
that noble woman. Ah, what would we
not give if we could assure to the little
ones who are now gathering around our
hearthstones such loving care in the
school-room as we then received!
Teacher, parent, employer, will it not
be richly worth your while to so live and
act that the embryo men and women now
under your charge shall, in the future,
look back upon your labors of to-day
with similar feelings? But will they
thus look back if you treat this business
of school-teaching as simply so much
work to be done in the easiest manner
for so much money to be grudgingly
paid.— Louisville Farm and
The Little Shoes Did It.
A young man who had been reclaimed
from the vice of intemperance was cal led
upon to tell how he was led to give up
drinking. He arose, but looked for a
moment very confused. All he could
say was: “The little shoes they did it?”
With a thick voice; as if his heart was in
his throat he kept repeating this. There
was a stare of perplexity on every face,
and at length some thoughtless youno
people began to titter. The man, in all
his embarrassment heard the sound, and
rallied at once. The light came into his
eyes with a flash; lie drew himself up,
and the choking went from his throat,
“Yes, friends,” he said, in a voice that
cut its way as clear as a deep-toned bell,
whatever you may think of it I’ve told
you the truth—the little shoes did it. I
was a brute and a fool; strong drink had
made me both, and starved me into the
bargain. I suffered—l deserved to suffer
but 1 did not suffer alone—no man does
who has a wife and children—for the
women get the worst share. But 1 am
no speaker to enlarge on that; I’ll stick
to the little shoes I saw one night when I
was all but done for—the saloon-keepers
child holding out her feet to look at her
fine, new shoes. It was a simple thing,
but my friends, no list ever struck ine
such a blow as those little new shoes.
They kicked reason into me.
reason had 1 to clothe others with
and provide rr>l eyen coarse
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■lni' (’.idled child, on a
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War Telegraphing.
Gabriel N. P. Gale, a gentleman wide
ly known through his hotel connections,
and brother of the present proprietor of
the Hotel Lafayette, narrated to a Press
reporter Saturday three interesting sto
ries of war telegraphing. Mr. Gale
served during the rebellion as First
Lieutenant of the Eleventh New York
Battery, and, like every other old soldier,
loves to fight over again the battles of
the past. The experiences he told yes
terday are striking examples of how
Confederate cunning was out Hanked by
Yankee wit.
The Union army in 1862 lay encamped
on the nort h bank of the Rappahannock,
opposite what was to be the disastrous
field of Fredericksburg. On the bank of
the river, in the extreme front of the
Union line, stood the house of Mrs.
Gray, a long, rambling stone building,
whose front of three stories faced the
river. The roof sloped steeply toward
the rear, where the stone side was but
one story high. Mrs. Gray herself, an
elderly widow, had received the Union
advance with every demonstration of
welcome, and her house soon became a
favorite rendezvous • for young officers.
A prime cause of this, besides Mrs.
Gray’s cheerful hearth and good fare,
was the beauty of her daughter Sallie, a
brunette of perhaps twenty years, with
glossy black hair and deep blue eyes.
A young Lieutenant was badly wounded
by these batteries, and«pent all his spare
time at the feet of this fair Southerner,
who professed such sympathy with the
Union cause.
Late one rainy night a sentinel pacing
back and forth before the stone front of
the Gray house heard a faint but sharp
noise cutting the still air. It sounded
like the click of a telegraph instrument,
and it seemed to come from beneath his
feet. Greatly perplexed, he called the
Sergeant of the guard. They listened
carefully, and were presently joined by
the gallant lover of Sallie Gray. Con
victions of treachery smote his heart,
and with the Sergeant he unceremon
iously entered the Gray dwelling. Sallie
and her mother, despite the late hour,
were busily sewing by a table in the sit
ting-room. The ladies rose in apparent
surprise and indignation at the intrusion.
“ Step aside, if you please,” said the
Sergeant.
“What does this mean?” asked Mrs.
Gray, sharply.
“ Frank, I appeal to you for protec
tion,” cried the young lady to the Lieu
tenant. That officer could only shake
his head and sternly wave her aside.
“ You are false. You have deceived
me,” he said, hoarsely, as the girl who
had promised to be his bride, sank sob
bing upon a sofa.
The soldiers could hear the ticking
more plainly now. They moved the table,
lifted the carpet, and discovered a trap
door leading to a cellar of whose exist
ence they had no suspicion. A light be- ,
low was instantly quenched, but they
fearlessly descended and discovered a
telegraph instrument, with an insulated
wire running through the cellar wall amt
evidently passing beneath the river to
the enemy on the other side. Crouching
in a corner was the operator, a young
and handsome man, who had never be
fore been seen about the house, having
lived for days in the cellar. “You are
my prisoner” from the Sergeant brought
the distressed wail from poor Sallie of
“Mvjiusband, oh, my husband!” The
hea® of the Union Lieutenant went back
once more to the girl he left behind him.
But, notwithstanding the detection of
this line of communication the enemy
seemed to know of every movement of
the Union troops. It was a mystery to
the officers how they gained their
knowledge. There were no more tele
graph wires, ami there was no passing
across the river. At last the mystery
was solved. Within the Union lines,
but in sight of the enemy, there stood a
low frame house, occupied by a negro,
who did washing for the soldiers. He
hung his clothing to dry in the front
yard; but it is noticed that in the
porch there always hung three flannel
shirts, one red, one white and one blue.
The negro said that they were his Union
colors. But the shirts were not always
in the same position, and a suspicious
Sergeant finally became convinced that
the negro used them to signal across the
Rappahannock. The arrest of the negro
and the effectual use of the shirts to de
ceive, instead of to inform, the enemy
followed. — Philadelphia Press.
A Tree of Iron.
The Iron Palmetto is the I
work of art in the State House yard \
This is a wholly of iron, com- |
the death of many of Cp.ro
slain, whose names are fou&l ia
g|fl. >u o. on two brass
kin- -u<
TERMS: SI.OO 1
Sl'illlH. AMI
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institution. in
twenty-five
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calls on all
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tin; divine. I
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b’er i .T'klflflflfll
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!'■"< popiih;- than their predeciflfl
Chii-aj') Tribane. jfl
!’■ efIHH
>L> a :i At
pb-iAn of ,\[ l
:i!oi)!i>< ill Edinburgh:
d I ha- had t > own that Moody
in the footsteps of his Master,
no other force in the world, least qf
the force of scepticism, ever shows sflfl
a spirit or engages iti such laborsfl
love.” jfl|
-The following shows the nnmberfl®
pupils enrolled last year in ten of
ji' iding cities, and the cost per cafl'
for their education: New York, 267-flßl
pupil-, $10.35 c >st p r capita; Chicifl -
$18.57; 80-ton. 50,543, 7
St. Louis, 47,030, $11.66; CiwJflfll
35,750, $21.07; San
$18.45; Pittsburgh, $13.76; Buf
falo, 18,606, $lJj.9O; Washington, 26,419,
$18.17; Newark, N. J., 19,806, $10.49;
Detroit, 15,719, $12.36.—aV. F. Herald.
—That was a pleasant way in which
a newly-settled Methodist minister dis
armed the criticism of the people in the
congregation to which he had been sent.
Instead of getting angry-atair*
complaining that they had hurt life feel
ings, he remarked from the pulpit, “I
hear that you say fam not much of a
preacher; well, I know it; and I know
that if I could preach first rate 1 wouldn't
have been sent here to preach to such a
lot of ignoramuses as you.”— Chicago
Herald.
PUNGENT PARAGRAPHS.
—A little boy came to his mother re
cently and said: “I should think that
if I was ipadeof dust I would get muddy
inside when I drink.”
—“Whatfljd you say the conductor’s
name was?” —Mr. Glass” “O
no!” “But it is.” “Impossible—it
can’t be,” “And why not, pray?”
“Because, sir, Glass is a non-conductor.”
[Deafening applause from the scientific
passengers.]
—Rose McWhortleberry hoard her
master remark that “Kismet” meant
“fate,” and this is the reason why she so
astonished her mistress by remarking
the next day to Belinda, the chamber
•maid: “O, Blindy, I can scarcely walk
wid the chilblains all over my two kis
mets.”
—A fashion writer of the female sex
says: “In dress we are nothing but
monkeys.” The writer may be an ex
ception; but who ever saw a monkey
attired in a corset, a twenty-doll* r hat,
seventeen-button gloves, a lot of false
hair, and several hundred dollars’ worth
of dry goods.— Norristown Herald.
—Strive, endeavor, it profits m:ro
To flffbtand tall, than on Time’s dull
To sit hi ? r oy
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A 111 ■' ‘ BBH||
1 11 di'an •
-.A t'A p’ . . •
