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in full retrea*-..
Opposite direction.
‘0 not know how she felt, but I was
’Jared. Would she never come back?
Ito lie there always till sun. wind
®<l rain had done their worst?
I had almost despaired of ever seeing
n - one again, when a big dog rushed
i p ai ? ( i seized me. and with a few
'undslaid me—yes, would you 1 elieve
•“•right at Nellie’s feet. I was so
wik z ' n< l 'here was Ur. Wentworth
game-bag and gun ready to pick
! came up just in time to hear him
II h w he was frightened the same way
J* ' v^en he was a small boy, before
~ knew the ways of partridges.
fe; are shy enough, usually,” he
t c when there is a brood of lit
frie? nes ' bhe those you happened on
L Dow ’ are only too ready to tiy
your face.” .J
ofu * r th. at w ® used to encounter him
v ‘ aa ? he and Nellie came to be
. ~ friend*, till one day I ~was
p . 'y hearing him say some-
L lch BCaa, i*a exactly like, the
awou ar,i I ' oQpia
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A’i'- '► ' lit 111 O - igll ’ . ..>
the ell.. V. I e I'll’ It t I • f
>RWh<*h-W!| not wear me ba k to t .-•••
Bmt me ba kin her trunk. 1
BBken no notice of for a long time,
ychyn 1 was found one day by a very
Bp young lady who surveyed mo
and said:
B“That has oeen a pretty hat.”
~ “That old thing: yes, I wore it last
summer. 1 think I will give it to our
washwoman.” replied Nellie.
k I felt injured. Os course. I did not
■xpeet to stay with her always —hats
ft;ver feel the same after one season
■ny way—but I just did want to know
low that story came out, and how could
■ know if I was given to the wash
rvoman? I could not see what was the
Inatter with me; I was a trifle faded to
l e sure, but Nellie herself was not
nearly so bright and pretty as she used
to be.
I was forthwith presented to Mrs.
Middooney, who, when asked if 1 would
be of any use to her, answered
promptly:
me, it will help to cheer up
■; dear child amazin’ly. She’s been
|ffck in her bed this two months so she
can’t move nor stir, and the doctor tend
in, her all the while, though he takes
nothin’ for his trouble, but just lets
me do him a little washin’ now and
then.”
She took me home, and, though I
was not accustomed to meh surround
ings as I found myself among, I was ap
preciated once more. Nellie never en
joyed me half so much as did the pale
littie girl, who clapped her tiny, thin
hands when she saw me.
“Are there really Howers like these in
the country, mother?” she asked,
touching the poppies lightly.
“Yes, indeed, dearie.” answered the
woman, in such a different voice from
what she had used before, “yes. darlin’,
and you shall see for yourself when the
summer comes again; we ll go where
we can have plenty of them. Only
hurry and get well.’’
, The child lay perfectly quiet, and
wistfully at the bit o' blue sky,
visible from her window, and I was
afraid she would never see the fresh
country, she looked so like the lilies
just before the petals fall off. and leave
only the withered stem.
After a time there came a step upon
the stairs’, and the white little face bright
ened up wonderfully, then the door
opened, and a cheery voice asked;
And how is Uy little patient to-day?
almost readv to tend me oil?”
“ 1 g ess I’m bitter, but / d n t want
you to go away and only see what
mother brought me from where she
works. Isn’t it lo’ply? Did you ever
see any Howers qute so nice as these ’
With these worts she held me up,
and when I saw th! doctor I was more
surprised than I evr was be ore in all
mv experience. Wiy, it was Dr. Went
worth, Nellie’s fried, who was no’ her
frien I anv mor?, le was, like nn-elf,
look ng much older than when I first
i saw him, and there wit t red, troubled
l looking lines about is mouth, and e ei.
; He seemed astoiiiatfU, too, tu seeing
frud, when he too mv up, bis baud
I IH
long
fcs el
it be
■ •
rOnllon Jtvnns.
EpALTON, GEORGIA, SATURDAY, APRIL 14. 1883.
1 Kft.
trembled like the leaves. He looked at
me thoughtfully, and passed his hand
around the inside of my crown; some
thing rustled as he did so, and in a few
seconds his note was in his own hands
again.
For a long time ho did not speak, on
ly sat quietly holding n e firmlv in his
hand. Then he spoke in such a low,
subdued tone.
“ Little one. do you know where your
mother got this?”
“No, but she does,” answered the
child, “and if you want to know I’ll ask
her when she comes home again, and
tell you.”
“J should like to know very much,”
he replied.
“Do youthink it such a pretty hat?”
she asked.
“Little girl,” and the doctor took a
small pale hand in his, “car. von think
of anything in the world jou would
rather have than this hat?”
“Why, doctor!”
“Think hard before you answer, and
don’t be afraid of saying anything too
great. ’ ’
“What could be nicer than these, ex
cept real flowers that grow in the
ground? You know there isn’t anythin®
nicer than flowers except the hand-or
gan man; he only comes once in a while
though.”
“Did you ever see the bouquets in
the florist’s window, when you were
well and could go out in the street?”
“Oh, yes. Don’t you think the man
in the flower shop ‘ ought to be vory
happy?”
“ And did you ever hear of little box
es that had mus e inside of them, and
you had only to wind them up as your
mother does her clock, and they play
the most beauti ul music?”
“Oh, they don’t have those here, do
they? Did you really ever sec one?”
“If the florist’s boy brought you a
splendid bouquet every day, and the
expressman brought a music box, and
Miss Bleacher, around the corner, sent
in the prett est little hat in her window
for you, do you think you could give
me this hat, and let me take it away
with me?”
“Why, Ft. Wentworth, are you a
fairy godmother? Are these my three
wishes? And are you going to vanish?”
“Not till you say this hat is mine,
then I will vanish to the florist’s to the
music store, and to Miss Bleacher’s.”
The child did not speak, but onlv he’d
me out to him, and when he took me
away 1 was sorry to leave her. she looked
so happy.
The doctor and 1 got into the buggy
and drove off. One does not get the
nicest kind of a ride under the seat of
a buggy. When we got to the doctor’s
office I felt confused and dizzy. He
laid me down on the table, and went out.
When he came in again a boy was
there, dusting and setting things in
order.
“Shall I sling this old hat away?”
said the boy, seizing me and going to
ward the window.
“ Here, you young villain, bring that
back.” '
And Dr. Wentworth scowled at the
boy, and took me away. He carried
me to another room, and put me away
in a trunk with some bo ks and queer
looking things, quite unlike anything I
had ever seen in Nellie’s trunks.
I spent the time thinking about what
I had seen, and in speculating about
the future; I was anxious to see the end
of the story. I wa ted a long, long
time for f> Ether developements, and at
last grew tired of waiting. Still time
went on. and nobody came to take me
out I grew stiff and yellow. I felt in
every straw and thread that 1 was unde
niably an old hat.
I must have passed into a dormant
state in which I remained I know not
how long.
But suddenly I found myself in broad
daylight again, and when I had col
lected myself sufficiently to know what
was about me, I was astonished to find
myself being held off at arm’s length
by my own Nellie, in a pretty pink do
mestic apron, a prettier p nk dusting
cap, and the prettiest pinkin her cheeks
I ever saw.
“John Wentworth, what is this?” she
asked.
“A shade hat, I think you used to call
it, my dear.”
“I should think so. It is the very
hat I wore two years ago in the coun
try,” she said.
“As 1 distinctly remember, Mrs.
Wentworth!”
“Where did you get it, and what is
it doing here?” Nellie asked.
“I got it from Mrs. Muldooney’s lit
tle girl, and it is there I ecause it is one
of"my treasures.”
Then he told her a 1 about his finding
me, that da., with the little sick girl,
and how when he saw the note there
he knew she had never .-een it, and
how he had got her address and heard
about her from Mrs. Muldoonev.
“So you ace, if it had not been for
this hat I might never have found you
aga n, and this day instead of having
the best wife in the world 1 should have
been a confirmed old bachelor.”
I slipped down behind the table, and
nobod v pa d any attention to me. They
must have been nearer each other than
1 was.to either of them, because I
could hardly catch a word they said.
But 1 heard again the same sweetsound
that puzzled me once before, while we
were spending the summer in the coun
try. — Susie B. Steadman, in Ballou's
Magazine. .
j-Bome one truly says that one eon
stantly sees styles, graceful and beauti
ful in themselves, rendered not only
nugatory, but positively ugly, because
uot in harmony with the person of ths
wearer. There is a great deal more truth
Um ia tai* rttwfc 1
WORTH KNOWING.
Hew the Home Fly, the Wicked Flea
and the Mosquito May All be Put to
Flight.
[From Harper’s Barar.)
The pyrethrum roseum, or “Persian
camomile,” is the powdered leaf of a
harmless flower growing in Caucasian
Asia in great profusion, where for cent
uries it has been used to rid the na
tives of insects. With a finely-prepared
dust made from these flowers, which
can be purchased of almost any relia
ble druggist at about 70 cents a pound,
the house fly, the wicked flea and the
mosquito may be put to flight or to
rest. In order to enjoy this delicious
riddance, it is only necessary to heap up
with a little cone one teaspoonfnl of the
drug pyrethrum, touch it with a lighted
match and watch the thin blue line of
smoke as it rises to the ceiling and is
wafted through the air, changing the
busv drone of insect life into a weak
wail of insect woe. Pretty soon down
they come plump on to tlie table and
over your paper spin on their tiny backs
and then sheathe their lancets, curl up
their hair-like legs, and interest one no
more. Up stairs the little ones sleep
unmolested, though there are thousands
of mosquitoes in the room; the pests
are sick unto death, and cling sadly to
the walls, too feeble to think of tap
ing the rich, warm blood that glows
in ruddy little limbs just below ; the
fume of the pyrethrum has settled their
business, and while it lingers in the
room outsiders are unwilling to make an
entry, though the windows are raised
and the lattices only half closed.
Gauze bars are hot, stuffy things at
best, and one must be sadly driven to
attempt to sleep under such a cover;
then, as we all know, the mosquito al
ways finds his way through, no matter
how carefully one may tuck up its folds
about the couch.
Smoke from the Persia camomile or
its dusty powder we hahi found most
efficacious, end your readers will bless
me when once they try it. The purity
of the drug must be assured. This can
readily be tested. It must have a bright
buff color; be light, readily burned, and
give a tea-like fragrance ; one
pinch should kill a dozen flies, confined
in a bottle, at once. When it fails of
these properties it has been adulterated.
In common use, in large or breezy rooms,
where, from great dilution, it fails to
kill, it nevertheless produces on insect
life, through its volatdized essential oil
or resin, undoubted nausea, vertigo, res
piratory spasms, and paralysis. It acts
upon them through the minute spiracles,
the breathing tubes, that stud the sur
face of their little bodies, aud from the
delicate network of veins in their tiny
wings. To human beings it is, so far as
I can ascertain, entirely innoxious, and
not disagreeable. That we—a family of
eight persons, infants and adults—have
lived for several weeks in an atmosphere
of pyrethrum dust aud smoke com
bined, during this present summer, is
sufficient proof of my statement. To the
skeptic I recommend an interesting ex
periment : Puff the pyrethrum into a
close, warm room, where flies most love
to swarm, just after dark, shut the door,
and make another visit in thirty minutes.
The sight of seeing millions of dead and
squirming vermin on the floor will do
his heart good—that is, if he is human
and not an angel.
Having drafted our plan of battle
against these little foes, it becomes pro
per to speak of the care of the wounded.
To cure mosquito stings, I know noth
ing bette rthan a 20-per-cent. solution in
either oil or of pure carbolic acid.
This is to be rubbed well on the painful
spot. To bathe one’s tingling hands and
smarting limbs with this solution gives
a cooling, gratefid sensation that is hard
to describe. Carbolic soap will do al
most as well, or an ointment compound
ed of carbol, camphor and cosmoline.
♦♦♦
Earth Lungs.
It is to be regretted that our knowl
edge concerning the emanations of gases
ami air from the crust of the earth is not
more certain. That the earth does per
form a function somewhat analagous to
human respiration is most probable;
that is, the air penetrates the soil and
water to a certain depth, is there
changed, as in the a'nimal lungs, aud is
again exhaled or expired through the
pores of the earth or water. How much
the expired air is changed in different
aituations is always a subject for scien
tific inquiry. It is reasonable to sup
pose that such atmospheric changes may
be excited into action by laws similar to
those which govern the motions of the
air at different temperatures. Whatever
may be the causes which originate, or
the laws which govern terrene emana
tions, their existence cannot be ques
tioned. In alluvial soils, cellars are
damper and more unpleasant than in
primal formations, and obtain and retain
an air which gives life to moulds and
various air plants.— Samaritan.
Getting a Character.
Be wondrous wary of your first com
portments ; get a good name, and be
very tender of it afterward ; for ’tis like
the Venice glass, quickly cracked, never
to be mended, though patched it may
be. To this purjiose, take along with
vou this fable. It happened that Fire,
Water and Fame went to travel together
(as you are doing now) ; they consulted
that if they lost one another, how they
might be retrieved, and meet again.
Fire said, “ Where you see smoke, there
you will find me.” Water said, “Where
you see marsh and moorish low ground
there you shall find me.” But Fame
said, “Take heed how you lose me, for
if you do you will run a great hazard
u«var to mast ma agaie; thera's no r»- L
Killing Made Easy.
In the time of Napoleon it was esti
mated that it took six hundred bullets to
be fired in battle before a man was
killed ; in other words, every dead sol
dier represented his own weight in load.
But the recent improvement in firearms
has added to the efficiency of the soldier.
The greater range of the rifle, as well as
the rapidity with which it can be fired,
has made it thirty-two times more
effective than the old smooth-bore.
To pul it more accurately, a military au
thority says that the modern rifle is
superior to the old smooth-bore in the
following particulars: It is eight times
more effective in accuracy, two-thirds
greater in range and penetration, five
times greater in rapidity of aimed fire,
while the weight of the cartridges p. r
man has diminished, yet the nunflier
I that may be carried has been increased.
The added efficiency of the heavy guns
is no less surprising. The famous
Krupp now makes a gun of nine
inches calibre and eighteen tons
weight, which will send a ball
through twenty inches of solid iron ; and
his field gun, within a range of more
than a mile and a half, can be depended
upon to put every projectile into a space
of less than two hundred square feet.
Taking into consideration the breech
loading, rilling, better powder, improved
projectiles, the lighter carriages of steel,
the science of artillery has been revolu
tionized, and one battery to-day is more
effective than twenty of those so skill
fully handled by the Great Napoleon. In
the next great battles some dreadful
engines of destruction will be brought
into play. The Hotchkiss revolving gun
can fire bursting shells at the rate of
eighty a minute. It can pour out a comj
tiuuons and deadly fire of seventy-live
pounds of metal, or 1,290 hits, every
sixty seconds. It is fearful to think of
the havoc which would be caused by the
guns of the future. — Demorest's Monthly.
- 1 ■ 1— ■
Rushing Into Print.
Those who read the “ woman s,
column” of a weekly paper must be
pressed by one curious fact: the fair
writers are far too fond of confiding their
domestic troubles to the general pulllic.
One asks for sympathy because her hus
! baud abuses her, and another deplorefg
I her husband’s profanity. at
tempt to be witty and smart at thfljlex
pense of “old maids.” Then theold
! maids ” retaliate ; and so it goes unw
wiser people are disgusted. What com
fort can be in bringing one’s faqiily
woes before the public through the me
dium of the newspapers is to ns incom
prehensible. Nothing is gained by so
doing, the troubles are none tha less
grievous, and little sympathy is give! to
people who have not sufficient fortitude
;to endurp them without
i These are the women who complain thou
they do uot have their “rights.” But
when they say their literary work is not
treated with ns much as
that of men, they say what is not tiMPS
Any one, by glancing at the list of j
contributors to our ablest and most popii-M
lar periodicals, will find nearly, ami iid
some cases, quite one-half, the names
: those of women. There are said to lie
i in the United States sixty kdy
while many others have positions on edi
torial staffs. No one will deny that a
book written by a woman gains recogni
tion and commendation as readily as one !
written by a man. Ladies no longer find I
it necessary to assume masculiM noms
des plumes, in order to receive attention
from the world. But there is a vast dif
ference between honest, meritorious
literary work and querulous complain
ing. and ill-advised scribblers must ex
pect the fact to be recognized.— Chieaijo
Leduer.
Farming Under the Sea, ?
The fact is not generally known ‘ that
within three hours’ ride of Boston a
large and profitable business has been
carried on since 1848 along the seashore,
and is nothing more or less than “farm
ing under the sea.” Everywhere upon
the coasts of eastern New England may
be found, ten feet below the water mark,
the lichen known as carrageen—the
“Irish moss” of commerce. It maybe
tom from the sunken rocks anywhere, i
and yet the little seaport of Scituate is
almost the only place in the country i
where it is gathered and cured. This j
village is the great center of the moss!
business in the country, and the entire |
Union draws its supplies from these :
beaches. Long rakes are used in tilling I
this marine farm, and it does not take |
long to fill the many dories that await;
the lichen, tom from its salty, rock bed. ,
The husbands and fathers gather the
moss from the sea, and the wives and ,
daughters prepare it for the market. Soak [
it in water, aud it will melt away to a i ,
jelly. Boil it in milk, and a delicious j
white and creamy blancmange is the re-. 1
suit. The annual product is from ten to I (
fifteen thousand barrels, and it brings (
into the town, which sum is j
shared by one hundred and fifty families. ,
Its consumption in the manufacture of (
lager beer is very largo, and the entire
beer of the country draws its supplies,
from Scituate beaches, as the importa- (
tion from Ireland has almost ceased. It ]
is not generally known that the moss, as j
an article of food, is called “ sea-moss
farina.” i
• i
Dr. Huoh Glenn, the California ’
farmer who owns 65,000 acres, has tint ! '
year 45,000 acres in wheat. He has >
350,000 sacks ready, each holding 140
pounds, but he thinks they will not hold I
his golden harvest Dr. Glonu is • !
native of Virginia, a gnidnatc m rneai- >
TERMS: SI.OOA YEAR.
PITH AND POINT.
—“You can’t get ahead of me, M (aid
a stupid mean man to a doctor. "I
wouldn’t care to,” retorted the phy
-i< i in, “f >r I don’t like cabbage.” - .V
F. Cmnnirreial Advertiser.
—A philosopher says, “Live yotir life
in such away as to show a contempt for
wealth." That’s “us!” We want our
daily life so intermingled with wealth,
as it were,’ that familiarity will breed
Rochester (N. F.) ss.
A new cashier in a Pittsburgh bank
is Mr. Drum. It does not follow that he
has two heads, but that confidence men
will find him hard to “beat.”— Pitts
burgh Telegraph. It maybe hoped that
he will not prove a snare Drum.-De
'roh Post.
-Answers to correspondents—Lilly
M. S., “Would you be so kind as to give
me a receipt for a baked plum pud-
Certainly, Lilly, certainly.
Send on your baked plum pudding, and
we’ll send you a receipt for it by return
mail. Could you send a three-cent
stamp to cover postage?—Tern#
t"?’-
“Willyira, my son,”, (ays ■’oo
*l mother to her son, “Ur iftfcrAy’i!
.-•ike don’t keep on tramping up and
down |hb floor in that manner you’ll
wear out your new boots. (lie sits
biwn.) There you go—-n:ing down!
Now, you’ll wear out your new trousers!
1 declare, I never see such a boy!’’—
ChiMtgo ]Jerald.
—“What d’ye leave that door wide
open for?” exclaimed the gentleman In
office to the intruding pi ddler. “Di
thought, surr,” was the quick reply,
“that ye moight wxnt to kick me down
and Oi wantedlro make it con
vanient for yo, suit,” The gentleman
was so taken aback that he bought two
. apples for five cents, passing off a bad
quarter in the transaction.— Boston Post.
—Young Lodgers struck up an ac
' quaintance with a nice girl on the State
road the other day, and he promised
himself a whole, salvo of kisses when
, they should enter the lloosac Mountain.
What was his disappointment when th»
j brakeman came through and liirhtodths
car lamps before reaching tne bore!
! Rodgers says the tunnel is a blankety
j blank humbug, and the sooner it is tilled
up the better! Tim da! he says, of
squandering millions on such a mean
fraud as that! Bos/on Herald.
—When you have a male bore, who
■ hangs to you tighter than a nickname,
how blessed it is t<> e.- I Ind: <• •me in!
i Ninety-nine bores out of a hundred—
; and only a kick will meet :he ease of the
hundredth-will g< t up and go when a
lady enters. Blessings therefore descend
upon her head! Woman is indeed the
best friend of mau. But ('."rrid thought!
i —how in Heaven’s name is a fellow to
I get rid of the wonrri, if she happen to
be—and sometimes she is—an uncon
scionably worse bore than the male boro
i she unseated?—A I’. tlnijihio-
Number and Orders of the Stars.
If we raise our eyes to the heaven. 6
on a clear moonless night, we shall see
myriads of twinkling stars thickly stud
ding the sky. It seems impossible to
count them, but such is not the case. It
is found that the total number of stars
in the celestial sphere, visible to the
average naked eye, is about five thous
! and, the number varying according to
I the perfection and training of the eye
aud the condition of the atmosphere.
When the sky is cloudless, and the
air free from moisture and unstirred by
the slightest breeze, several hundreds
more may be seen, swelling the number
to nearly six thousand. As only one
half of the stars are above the horizon at
a time, it follows that the number to be
seen at once varies from twenty-five
hundred to three thousand.
The stars visible, to the naked eye bear
no comparison to those brought to view
iin the toh scope. No less than twenty
million stare were visible in Herschel’s
tventy fi ot telescope. The great tel
escopes of modern times show a much
larger number, aud though no reliable
estimate has yet been made, the num
ber will probably reach fifty millions.
The difference in the size and bright
ness of the stars is no less, striking than
their number. At a very early age in
the history of astronomy, they were di
vided into classes on this account. The
twenty brightest stars are said to be of
the first magnitude. The fifty stars next
in brightness are of the second magni
tude, a«d so on, until we reach the stars
of the sixth magnitude, which include
the faintest stars visible to the naked
eye.
The telescope greatly increases the
number of classes as well as the uumlier
of the stars, so that the smallest stars
visible in the largest telescoi>e are of the
sixteenth magnitude. No limit to the
increase has yet been found. Every im
provement in the far-seeing power of the
telescope reveals the existence of myriad
stars never seen before, until it seems as
if the stars that people space are as
nearly countless as the sands of the sea
shore, or the Howers that bloom in the
primeval for. sts.
What an inconceivable number of suns,
of "mnny orders of size and brightness,
belong to the grand universe of space
in which our sun and his family of worlds
find place! For these myriad stars that
sparkle in the canopy . Dlgi, !," r ® e ß a
suns like our sun, masses o dilh
white shining pointy
our ‘ .m would it ho were M
ter away.- louth's Companion.
_ A t 9 of coins in Ne*
eceutly, *l7l VM P*** 3