Newspaper Page Text
. VOLUME VII.
BBpROFESStORAI CARDS.
. -: ~ :
Lawyers.
IHHF * Attorney at Law-
Douglasville, Ga.
SKCOflloftiTi front room, Dwaffi building.)
HHffi prsetieu anywhere «s<ept in the County
U Court of Douglas county.
■K- ——
gW A. JAMES,
" •
Atfnmey at Law,
Douglasville,, Ga.
FW" Will practice in *U the court*, State and
M‘ Federal. Office on Court-house Square.
k T. ROBERTS,
Attorney at law,
Douglasville, Ga.
Will practice iu all the court*. All legal bua
iue>e will receive prompt attention. Office iu
eourt-bonae.
U £• CAMP.
Attorney at law.
Civil Eugiaeer and Hnrvetor.
Douglasville, Ga
B. ’• e “ 008 '
Attorney at X«aw.
Douglxville, Ga
Will practice ia ail the court*, State and
U
JOBS M. EDGE,
Attorney at Law,
■•-■— - Utoyglaeviße.' Ga.
|Sblftrt-’* h,i p|uiu!>t
tli in * c * re -
lAW,
C'wtolL Paatdluff. Cobb, Fulton !
■
Attorney at law, \
Doughavilla, Ga
MgAp •rwwawi toe
H||y. T. ft WHITLEY,
K nystotaMi mA lusmr
Douglasvills, Ga.
Special ettentioß io Surgery aud Chronic dio
mm* iu either sea
Office up ,taiu iu Dorsett** brick building.
p u. fmoi,
anA Bargeon,
Sod* o ** * Edge’* drugstore, where
wxnrw found at all liour», except whoa
profMdenany oßgagrd. » } wi*l attention
jiwn to Chrome caawt, and especially all erne
that havo beea treated and are etifl uhcnrtd.
jaulS S 4 ly
IBEWRIOTFVTLY offer my mrvieea a* fhy
ideiaa aud Burgeon to the paopte of Doiig
iaeville aud vicinity. All calb will be attended
promptly, O»n U found at the drugstore of
Madeou A Edge during Um day, and at night
at my mulanen, at the house recently occu
pied by J. A. Pittman.
______ J* B- 8008.
"bSS"' a """ t
«J|’~ Ik OOOB,"* “
Itontol Snrgeesu
Rm heated in DouglaavUte. Twenty year**
Mpafiamw. Dentistry in all it* branchaa dona
in tha omt approved Myte. Office over post*
PaMr? ***
< «y..i 111 i1... 11 M».i in .. ....
m a BUTLER,
lew Fntotor t
Dougtaaville.Ga,
WM nmhaold fnmlture look a* well m naw.
ate* him a trial ia thia Um» Wifl dao so
Boat* carpets tar ius wort.
gfaiMagß <ns MterolHta.
°b it traa doctor,” sakt * natural*
Mft eitiaaa tfeffi Mbar day to «M of the
iias-lteftw »«.$ filAk sal Waff Ma A*.
w.n»W wrSWßwß’Elffil
State* bland. “that th®y am begs®
BuMf to vaccinate pwople for tb®
*i boltevs it k Larry,” replied th*
doctor “Aititough they hare not dto-
a rood cure for cholera. they
Uyv bi Imi lmd mt so« eeuN «t it. A
**And whagt to that* dnetor?”
••Wmll Larry, it would ba hard fo*
na to axplala U to yon. but parhao.
. yew may have baard at mtorobaa-—. ‘
b "Os Mika (Mu, ot coutao 1 bav*?’
r “No, Larry, not Mike Oata, o*».
enmity uodanaluw, bat mtocmtoa, to
wee the proper oroaaaciatfoß.”
<<X aye, Mkh Boba Ba lived i*
toaaa ut»a «<s\ but —'
liSg' Not that Sallow. Larry. I refer to
iaOtavV awre •ttoUfh, toa McHohee, fas
HCm et the wscet kind. Ths
The Weeity Star.
* s
Dalafea.
Rippling and toning at every breath.
Os the random zephyr that passes by.
The daisies sway like a sea beneath
The deep blue vault of the cloud-flecked sky.
Over the billows of gold and white
Flicker the shadows and fall the light.
There’s never a daisy in all the host
Was here in the summers of long ago.
And still the fancy that charms us most
Is a haunting whisper, sweet and low.
Stirring our hearts with its tender strain,
"Here are the daises back again."
The same dear daisies we used to cull
When hands were tiny and hearts were gay,
Gathering them till our laps were full,
Many and many a Hammer day.
Softly repeating a magic rune,
Fringing the petals to time the tune.
And here in the midst of the white aud gold,
Old as Eden yet ever new,
I* the same sweet story of gladness told
finder the sky so wide and blue.
Her face on the daises shyly bent.
His eyes ou her with a proud content.
There may be, far from this hushed retreat,
Din and tumult and sordid care;
Somewhere, perhaps, is the drum's harsh beat,
And women kneeling in tearful prayer:
There is only peace where to and fro
In the silent meadow the daisies blow
There are always dreams in this toilsome
world,
.Pure as heaven and true as tiod. z
Who sends us dawns with the dews impearled,
And scatters the glory of bloom abroad,
May the story that's ever both old and new
For the lovers here be a dream come true!
—Margaret K. Rangeter in Harper's Bazar.
A DIVIDED DUTY.
The rain fell with a mournful patter
on the Webster homestead, and the
wind sighed an accompaniment through
the stately trees that stood on the beau
tiful lawn fronting the old house.
Within the homestead, seated in an
•asy-chair before the ruddy fire, was
E ay-haired Farmer Webster, with head
nt forward, the hot tears of anguish
coursing down his wrinkled, weather
beaten cheeks.
Only yesterday the wife who had
been his helpmeet and and adviser
through thirty-five years of varying
fortunes and weary struggling, had
been borne a corpse from his home to
the little churchyard at Weldon.
He had brought her to the home-*
stead a fair young bride, just after pur*
chasing the place, where, ever since,
they had shared so many joys and sor
rows together.
She had seen the little farpf of a few
acres jafiaa^Lin t to a
HtoMf u *^ nre ' in her 'happiest moods,
TnxiWwer formed. She had seen many
heavy obligations paid up; and now,
| W&ivM. 3&&SKUL Sia**#** lii '»* ,
jovoiitokutV -■ ' j
Thtosad eulmmattoo of all hto hopes |
‘ ’OwWiif% 'WW ! hls Kdfrie' on this
gloomy evening and recalled the many
happy recollections of the past, his
grief overmastered him, and he gave
way to it in bitter lamentations.
‘•Oh. God!” he groaned, “why has
this sorrow befallen me? Why was
•he taken away from me just when I
needed her moat?”
A fair girlish form, over whose
shoulders fell a wealth of golden hair,
tripped lightly in from an adjoining
room, and, going to his side, placed
her hand upon his head, and, in a
gentle voice, said:
“Dear father, do not give way to
your grief. It is the will of God that
mother should be taken from us, and
it to wrong to rebel against His de
crees. Cheer up. I am still left to
comfort you.”
••True enough, Nellie,” he replied,
looking up and drawing her gently
down so that she' knelt alongside of
his chair.
Brushing back the dusters of hair
that lay in beautiful disorder about her
forehead, he went on:
••My dear girl, how much you look
like your dead mother when I first
brought her here! It never occurred
to me before. God bless you! For
your sake I will try and live down this
sorrow. You are left to me, and you
will be the comfort of my old age.
But,” and here be burst' into tears
again, “1 suppose that you, too, Will
eome day leave and forget me, -and
then I shall be alone, with no one U
care for or love me in my old age."
••Don't talk like that, father,” sht
replied caressingly. “How can yov
be so cruel as to think for a momen*
that I will ever desert and forge
you?”
Rap, rap, rap, came from a sturdy
hand on the doo&
••That’s Ned!” Nellie exclaimed,
jumping to her feet and running to ths
door, her face lit up with welcome.
Opening the door, a stalwart young
’ man, enveloped in a heavy overcoat, i
.entered the room.
The newcomer was scarcely past
twenty.
Throwing aside his hat and coat, •
after greeting Farmer Webster, hs
stood m the center of the room, ths
very embodiment of manliness.
“Oh, Ned,.l am so glad vou called.”
exclaimed Nellie; •father and 1 have
been to lonely here all day.”
“I thought you would be lonesome,”
Ned replied; “and so I concluded ts
brave the storm and come here and
sympathise with you in your loss.”
“it to very kind of you, Ned,” an* I
•wered Farmer Webster; “draw up i
your chair to the fire, and make your*
sett at home.”
Ned complied, and Nellie drew he?
chair alongside of his, and for a few
moments they sat there, talking of
eropa, the weather, and the latest top
fcaftf iatereat in the neighborhood. ?
It would not hate required a very j
kee&jndgeof human nature to have
toH Htot to the quiet glances that paae*
ed between Nellie and Ned, their
focwgbto wwe ocenpujd with a theme
to which all others were fotredera.
They had grown up boy and girt on
adfoinlng farm.s, had attended the saws
SS&mta. bad sbwd to
BLAWINmci TO TO JLXJE..
DOUGLASVILLE, GEORGIA, THURSDAY. AUGUST 27, 1885.
other’s pleasures, and with the dawn
of manhood and womanhood, had
learned that their hearts throbbed in
love’s accord.
Farmer Webster had noticed the
growing attachment between the two
j for each other, and had interposed no
obstacle to its ultimate result
: But now, bereft of his wife, a new
feeling had taken possession of him.
The thought came to his. mind as ha
sat there, that Ned would soon take
his darling Nellie from him, and leave
him lonely and forsaken in the old
homestead, and all the selfish instincts
of.his nature rose in rebellion at such a
prospect.
The old-fashioned clock in the wall
struck ten, and Ned, remarking that
he “must be going,” rose to take hto
leave.
Putting on his coat, he bade Farmer
Webster a hearty good-night, and
started out on the porch, Nellie follow
ing him; kissing her an affectionate
good-night, he left for his home.
When Nellie returned to her father,
she found him pacing the floor to and
■fro.
> His grief had given way to a calm
and determined manner, as if his mind
was deliberating on some serious sub
ject.
“Nellie,” he said, in a firm voice, as
she seated herself by the fire, “you
love Ned Bradford, do you not?”
“Why do you ask such a question,
father?”
“I have a right to know,” he replied
in a sei ere tone.
“I know you have, dear father,” she
returned, “and I will be candid with
you. -I do love Ned, and have loved
him for many yeai's. When we were
schoolmates together, I loved him foi
his many kindnesses to me. That lov«
,has grown with each succeeding year,
and now love him for his manliness of
character,”
“Has he ever made a proposal of
marriage to you, Nellie?”
“What strange questions you are
asking me to-night, father! What are !
your reasons for doing so?”
“Well, Nellie,” her father replied,
taking a chair and drawing it near the
fire, “you have been candid with me,
and I will now be the same with you.
1 have resolved, that your mother
AftMjro one sipril take you
you will respect it. thf£ yW will for
get Ned Bradford and give tip all
■ thoufcht of ever becoming hip wile.' "
I That 1 consider him unworthy bJ
you He I’, a noble, manly ypiwg fel-
> low, A *nd I should be proud to obo him
i asSon and your busband. But
, you Rre all that your mother hpa left
me to love. In you I look for So
lace of my old age, and I cannot con
sent to ever part with you.”
“But, dear father,’* Nellie began,
her voice tremulous with tears, “if I
become Ned’s wife, it does not follow
that you will lose me. I shall always
love you dearly, and shall consider it
the first duty of my life to care for and
comfort you.”
“That may be all very true, Nellie.
But, as your father, I know that all
men want and claim an undivided
share in their wives’ affection, and that
it is useless for you to talk of caring
for me and your husband, too. I say
now, and I hope you will heed my re
quest, I want you to give up all notion
of becoming Ned Bradford's wife.”
"It is a hard condition you place up
on me, father. I will see Ned, and if
he submits to your will I shall do so
cheerfully,” Nellie replied sadly.
A few evenings afterward Ned called
again at the Webster homestead, and
when Nellie and himself wore alone
■he told him of her father’s wishes.
“What shall we do, Ned?” she ask
ed, looking lovingly into his open, ex
pressive blue eyes.
“Nellie,” he answered gravely. "I
have always believed it to be the duty
of a child to honor and obey a father
and mother; but I believe there are
some things in our lives which are be
yond the limit of a parent’s dictation.
You and I love each other. We can
live happily together, I am sure, until
death separates us. It to your father’s
will that our paths in life should be in
different places. Let us remember the
great loss that you have both suffered,
and for the present respect his wishes.
We will meet often as friends, and be
friends, and wait Time will assuage
hto grief, and then, perhaps, he will
look at this matter diflbrently."
“Dear Ned, what a philosopher you
are! You dear, good boy, I * will ac
cept your advice, but I will never
cease loving you as devotedly as I do
now.”
The fevers passed away the evening
;in commonplace chat, and when he
i took his departure. Nellie hastened to
inform her father that they had agreed
to conform to his wishes. '
The selfish old mem smiled an ap
proval. and congratulated Nellie on
her filial obedience.
Throughout the long winter that foL
j lowed. Nellie and Ned met often at
the village church, at chun-h meetings,
festivals, family socials, and all those
i entertainments that form a part of the
existence of every dweller in the coun
’ were attentive to each oWer io
r the enjoyment of all these pleasures.
Though both disci aimed any more
i than mere friendship for each other, to
those who knew them both, their ac
| tions told plainly that a feeling purer,
holier, and nobler existed in their
; bencto.
! The month et’ May came round again
with its blue, unclouded skm boddmg
MSffjssa
. Ttoty bad r»X« torn dtotenes in
j silence, m returning home at evening,
i when Ned broke the stillness by say
-1 * a B :
“Nellie, ! think it cruel in your fath
? er to keep Wapart merely to gratify
i what I otfaifflHEtoffihkn.”
• Well, do, Ned?” Nel-
lie asked.
f "1 have the matter
. over seriouAgMahne time,” Ned re
t plied, “andi hnw wnduded that we
i have father’s wishes
i long enough. JBBhas not the right, I
! maintain, M'Wetofo that our lives re
i main because he wants
i you for With your con
sent, on, “I intend to
I speak to to-night, when we
I get. if he will not agree
) to our spring.”
"You w hearty consent, Ned,
to do best in the mat
t/6r’” “and I approve of
1 your
i An brought them back
to the cldTwmestead, on whose broad
porch Farmer Webster sit-
> ting in enjoyment of the beautiful even
ing.
i “Mr. Webster,” began Ned. as the
loving couple stood before him, "we
have come to you to ask your consent
to our marriage during this month.”
1 “What!” the father exclaimed in a
sharp voice. “I thought that you had
both given up that idea long age.
Nellie, did I not command you to
abandon all thought of marriage dur
ing my lifetime?”
"Yes, father, you did,” Nellie re
turned in a firm voice. "But 1 have
decided that your command is unreas
onable and unnatural. I owe you •
duty, I know, and with God’s help I
shall strive to discharge that duty as
becomes a loving and dutiful child. I
also think,..father, that 1 owe a duty to
myself. Move Ned dearly, and he
loves me. Our lives were made for
each other, and I believe that I should
be free to mtqrcise the same right that
my mother enjoyed when she became
your wif#”
“Then you have resolved to marry
Ned, haveyou, Nellie, contrary to my
wishes?” asked Farmer Webster.
“I have resolved to do so,-father, be
cause I think 1 have the right to dis
pose of as my love and natu*v
prompt ”T I* <
r T***»Utomiy UiiMwttT— An-, Mdwffiffiffi. ...
began, ritnJg'To his feet and placing bia 1
are toWed rt is folly for me
You We my
akeyow heUahsm 1
with foe lift nefonwrer of my life. ’ ’
“That to hot a hard condition, is it,
Nellie?” s|id Ned, as he imprinted »
kiss on her lips. “We’ll agree to that,
won’t we?’
"I shslybe delighted to stay in the
old home?’ Nellie replied. “We ean
have fatb«r with us, and how happy
we can z >ke his life! Aud ”
“Well, ’ interposed the old man,
"now arr<c*;e for the wedding-day at
your pletedFe.”
after, Nellie and Ned
the altar in the little
church, and heard the words pronounc
ed that made them man and wife.
As the giergyman stepped forward
to congratulate Jhe happy couple he
turned to Farmer Webster, who stood
near by, and remarked:
“Friend Webster, God has blessed
you in your daughter’s choice, for he
will prove unto thee a restorer of thy
life and a nourisher of thine old age. ”
"God grant that he may,” returned
the old man as he took the young
couple by the arms and started down
the aisle for the door.
Several years have passed, and
Farmer Webster has had many occa
sions to appreciate the parson’s proph
ecy of his son Ned, whose kindness and
attention to his father’s every wish
have been unremitting.
As the old farmer sits at eventide on
his porch, and sees his broad acres
teeming with bounteous harvests—the
results of Ned’s indus’.ry— >*
to the merry prattle of two lovely
grandchildren, the thought forces it
self to his mind that it is the unwritten
law of our lives that there will <xmm
to us a time «vhen we shall be brought
face to face with "A Divided Duty,”
and that the supreme power of love
will be the arbiter of our actions. ,
Yale College is said to have a private
detective who keeps an eye upon the
conduct of students and sends weekly
reports to the “gov’nor,” or in other
words, to their parents. He also fur
nishes the number of marks the pupil
receives, his losses at cards, the name*
of the girls to whom he pays his at
tentions, where he spends his evenings,
and the like.
Chttrch Manners. * t
While we are upon this subject, wo
wish to call attention to two matters
in which the majority of congregations
might easily improve their manners
and add to the iiupreasiveneas of the
wrices. It is a commoe habit whea
the audience are to stand during tha
singing of a hymn, to wait until the
first line is begun, and then ruin tha
verse by the confusion <d the rising.
Again, during the latter part of the
last verse the clattering of took* into
the pew-racks before the dose of the
song is a serious interference with all
devotional effect, and especially so
when that opportunity is seized for the
putting on of wraps, rubbers, etc. No
one would do this during the dosing ;
sentences <rf a prayer: why should H be
done during the ascription of praise to
God? Hundreds, yea, thooaands of
Cfertstian people thus thoughtlessly
mar tha song worship in tha aanetsary.
i- I ."' . _ ' 11
A LOST ART.
Bow ths Millstone Hm Been Relegated
Out of Use.
«
A number of heavy white millstones
were piled up on one of the docks along
the river yesterday. They were con
signed to some interior town forty or
fifty miles from the city, and were of
the style, make, and finish so long in
use . An old man, with a slouch hat
pulled down so far over his face that
his small, fast-blinking eyes were al
most hid from view, stood a little way
back on the wharf and talked to a
young man whom he had halted and
asked for a match. “Millstones have
pretty nearly gone out of date,” said
he, with a half mournful air, “and with
them has gone the occupation I have
followed for thirty years. See here,”
and the old man crowded his hat over
on the back part of his head and lifted
his face for the first time into plain
sight It was pitted all over with num
berless ugly dimples, depressions and
cuts, and looked as if he might some
day have had the small-pox.
"Do you know how that was done?”
he asked. The young man did not
know. "By picking millstones,” was
the quickly volunteered information.
"No one who has ever followed the
business of giving those stones that
keen cut texture that enables them to
crush and grind grain can escape these
cuts and scars. Why my face is liter
ally filled with the little particles of
steel and stone, and my eyes have sea
sons of paining me terribly. But the
profession has about run its race. In
ten years the dictionary-makers, will
put the stereotyped word ‘obsolete’ af
ter the noun ‘millstone.’ Modern in
ventions have relegated the time-honor
ed millstone into oblivion. New pro
cesses have been discovered for ex
tracting the wheat from flour, beside
which the millstone has no show.”
The young man began to grow inter
ested. He drew his companion into
the doorway of a little switch shanty,
secured permission for the two to sit
down a moment before the fire, and
asked him to continue.
“Nowadays,” said the old man,
“wheat is crushed between rollers and
the flour produced is much superior to
the old too, the bran
that WMtfotoght to be almo.»t worth<
fess 'i S r T Ay . a new pro- i
than
rwtiety. / W ’
of a I - beneath the j
Wve showft that it h true of all vnge- I
tables, espevtaily ot wheat. ; TAm *mg- |
gested the i -sseve that, |
would separate the iutfe particles of '
the kernel that to the 1
when it hashetA broken up and group d
to pieces. It was successful, and the
flour secured in this way, while small
in quantity, is of superb quality. This
latter process was only made possible
by the new method of grinding wheat
that has been generally adopted by all
the large mills m the country. But in
the meantime my occupation has been
gradually undermined. Once in a
while 1 have a cal! to go out in the
country and dress a stone, but it is very
seldom. Most of the millstones in use
in this country are of French burr, a
silicious rock, containing many small,
rough cavities, and requiring less prep
aration than a perfectly plain stone. It is
quarried in the geological district
known as the ‘Paris basin? A quarry
has been worked for many years in the
valley of the Savannah River, about
one hundred miles above the City of
Savannah, and the quality of stones se
cured is said to be almost equal to those
produced in France. The lower stone
has generally a smooth grinding sur
face. The moving stone is hollowed
towards the center to allow the mater
ial ground to flow freely between the
grinding surfaces. The face of both
stones have to be cut with straight
grooves in direction inclined radii. The
edges of the grooves are thus given a
cutting action somewhat resembling
that ot seizor blades, and a tendency
to force the grain outward toward the
circumference is secured, thus acceler
ating the feeding and avoiding choking.
To do this work perfectly requires an
enormous amount of practice, and an
apprentice must serve for four or five
years on cheap stones before he is al
lowed to touch the most valuable ones.
Machines were once invented to do the
cutting but they were not a success. It
was a hard busineas to learn, and in its
day was very profitable. Modern in
novations, however, have no sympathy
for workingmen, and in ten years it is
doubtful if there will be a millstone in
use ia this country.” Cleveland
Xeoder.
I, i— » •-
The Fair of IzaMal.
On the Bth of December the festival
of Our Lady of Izamal w celebrated
with great pomp. A large fair is also
held th the city during those days in
her honor. Even merchants from
neighboring states flock there, if hot to
kneel at shrine cd the Virgin, to
worship at the altar of Mercury. Dev
otees on those occasions crowd the pri
vate apartment of the doll, which is al
so carried in solemn procession, deck
ed in gorgeous array, and followed by
a long train of worshipers.
After church service is over, all leave
in a hurry and rush to the bull-tight.
Many ot the Indians, who know abso
lutely nothing about tauromachy, enter
the ring to fight the bull, exposing
i themselves to be injured for life, or die,
: a painful death. In this we see an an-’
eieat custom yet prevalent Th.
cients sacrificed their lives to deities
for aay benefit received. To-day an'
Indian begs a favorite of his patron
saint, and as a proof of his deep gntiP
tod* WOfoMwe to fight a bull, keep*
N UMBER 29
drunk a certain number of days, or db‘
some other rash thing. | s
1 Bull-fighting in Yucatan, is not lilw:
bull-fighting in Spain. The ring is al #
double palisade sustaining sheds cover-'
‘ ed with palm leaves, that are
into boxes. Every one provides his
own seat. The best and the worst, big
' and small all attend the bull-fight..
Those who, on foot, merely play with
the bull, only have a henequen sack to.
serve as shield. Others, also on foot,
are provided witli poles about three
feet long, having a sharp iron head,
like that of an arrow,
When the people arg. ured .of
the bull played w iftoTheV
reitmerns. Those wSii
scribed then come forward? -
iness is to strike
and kill it, but it is seldom done at
once. The beast is chased by two or
three men, blow after blow is. dealt, tha
blood gushing afresh each time.. Th®
first pain makes the animal furious, but
the loss of blood soon weakens it, and
it becomes almost harmless. Then tha
horsemen are called on to lasso it an<
drag it away. While another bull Ci
being fetched rockets are fired, the
people applaud, the band plays,a clown
meanwhile doing his best to amuse the
spectators. If a bull is disinclined to
fight they gird his body with ropes in
every possible way, fastening fire-crack
ers about his head and tail. Aggra
vated and tortured, the poor beast
jumps about, and the crackers explode,
to the great delight of all present, big
and small. This renders it furious for
a few minutes; but if it again refuses to
fight it is taken away as a coward not
worth killing.— Alice D. le Flong eon, in
Harper'a Magazine for Feb.
The young people of Tenderfoot Cit£,
Ari., had a masquerade ball a short
time ago, and an envious journal of a
neighboring town had the following
paragraph about it: “We understand
that several young ladies xycre dressed
as Indian maidens, in pink hosiery, kid
slippers, diamond necklaces, with pea
cock feathers in their hair. We don’t
like to shatter this beautiful ideal of an
Indian maiden, but duty compels us to
say that no Indian maiden ever sported
such a layout. ’ The genuine article
wears an old plug-hat, a dirty army
blanket,- and*a discarded pair of trous
ers. For a necklace she wears a string
of paleface’s teeth, and con
siderable amouuj,. ot real with
her wherevar g ' t
■ i'll** HiP'Tl't fit ‘C-*’- •’SItVZXiiF
But it Ts not until the woman gets Well
into the forties that she reaches ths.au
gelic period where temper no longer
wields the mastery,and mature thought
smooths out the rugged outlines of her
mental life. If she understands the art
of self-preservation she may also retain
at this age the better part of her physi
cal charms, and be pretty in spite of
her years. Ninon de L’Enclos was re
garded as a belle and a beauty at sixty,:
and care and dbcretion are only neces
sary to carry the beauty of youth far
into mature life.
Another custom is coming into vogue
which must lend hope to many a spin
ster and widow of uncertain age, and;
that is the fashion of women marrying:
men younger than themselves. Per
haps this can hardly be called a novel
innovation, however, for it has been
practiced in the older countries fori
many years, and m Ireland has long (
been the custom. Dr. Johnson married
a woman old enough to be his mother;'
Disraeli was many years his wife’s jun
ior, and Aaron Burr married a widow
several years older than himself. The
famous Mme. de Stael was forty-four
when she picked up a young' officer of
twenty or so,and Rachel married Vern
hagen vou Ense when she was over for
ty and he in the twenties. All of these
were happy marriages, and Miss
Thackeray, Mrs. Craik and Margaret
Fuller seemed to believe in such unions,
for they each chose comparative young
sters for matrimonial mates. Modern
and ancient unions of this kind have
proved lucky unions, and, as some of
the latter have given a sort of tone and;
fashion to the custom, we may look
for • tide in that direction. If it be
comes the fashion for women to choose
husbands younger than themselves old
fashioned folks may preach against it
in vain.— London Echo. _
Sarah, The Bantam.
Mr. Soper, yard engineer on the Lake
Erie and western Road, and residing
in this city, has a bantam hen, “Sarah,”
which has ideas of her own. Sarah is
a little grey chick of very diminutive
pattern, shawling to a partridge browa
about the head, and a short time since
determined to raise a family. Looking
about for a suitable place to hatch her
progeny, she espied through the win
dow of her next neighbor’s house, that
of Mrs. N. M. Suffnn’s, a handsome
little tidy on a center-table, on which
stood a 'stuffed prairie chicken on a
base covered with lichens. Flying over
the lowered window, she picked the!
lichens off, carefully selected a wedding
bouquet dried and pressed from a
neighboring wall ornament aud placed
it in the center, and was snugly en
sconced beneath the wing of the stuffed
fowl upon the center-table when dis
covered.
She was removed and the wreck ra
placed, only to have it occur the second
and third time, and it was onlv until
after a week’s persistent fight that she
gave up her chosen nest, and ceased to
make herself the brightest and prettiest
qrpameut in the lady s parlor.-LctfitA