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About The Knoxville journal. (Knoxville, Ga.) 1888-18?? | View Entire Issue (Feb. 1, 1889)
A CORNER IN WHEAT. Arfold man sat in a dingy room, And a queer old man wss he; He was angle and point from his elbow joint To the cap of his awkward knee. His legs were long and his face was long, And as sad as a face could be, But his pyes were bright with a dangerous ligftt, As he hummed with ghoulish glee; “ Only a penny a loaf, Only a penny a loaf. 1 Tis only a penny a loaf to the poor, But 'tis millious of dollars to me!” He bought all the bread in the to i;n one day, And the poor man cursed amain; But little he cared how the eaters fared— He was not iu a caring vein. For the golden wheat that was made to cat To him was a thing for gain, Bo his features then wore a ghastly grin Ashe hummed this merry strain; “ Only a penny a loaf, Only a penny a loaf, Tis only a penny a loaf to the poor, But 'tis millions of dollars to me!’ The poor man sat at his meager board, With his wife and children near; Ob, they saw not, I wean, the phantom lean That gazed on their feast with a leer; And they never thought that a guest un¬ sought, The wraith of an old man queer, Stood silent and grim in a corner dim And whispered this chorus drear; “ Only a penny a loaf. Only a penny a loaf. ’Tis only a penny to you, my dears, And ’tis millions of dollars to me!" —George Horton, in Chicago Herald JOHN GRAFT'S WARD. Jlr FRANK H. STAUFFER. John Grant was in love with his ward. He regarded his condition as a hopeless one. He had been led to think so be¬ cause he was forty while she was but theiT twenty, and because of the difference in tastes, temperament and pursuits. He was seitisb, reserved, reticent, fiding, wrapped up in his books. She was con of out-door-life,rebellious communicative, vivacious, fond under restraint and restless under mental discipline. He was tall, spare, careworn, misan¬ thropic, his his face homely in its sedateness, step slow, his gestures tardy, his ut¬ terances heavy. She was little, agile, graceful, bright-faced, charming in her outbursts of girlishness, serene in the consciousness of womanhood, her voice low, sweet, emotional. He had been selected as her guardian when she was five years old, and for the remaining boarding fifteen years, save when at school, she had been almost constantly under his eyes. He had di rected her associations, molded her opinions, her corrected her faults, anticipated needs. He had noted her develop ment from a shy, awkward, impulsive child into* a lovely, self-possessed, grace fel " woman, He was not over susceptible—in fact, he was not sufficiently so; yet, thrown so -much into the society of his ward; and enjoying so much of her esteem and coDfidenee, imbibed it was not strange that he an affection for her which grew into a passion—a passion which was con concealed suming hira because he so sedulously it, He had never been made so aware 0 f the extent of his lore for her and the consciousness that she could never be hi*, as the bright spring morning when ho stood watching her from the library window, She was strolling up and down the wide walks, in the cheerful sunlight and under the blossoming trees, listening to Vincent Delislc’s pretty speeches, or an¬ swering them with saucy, incredulous retorts. Her rich dress glanced in the sunshiae, and settled itseft into fresh folds with every movement of her lithe, graceful figure. The young people seemed made for each other. He was rich, intelligent, attractive in face, handsome in figure, genial heart, in manner, faultless in attire, kind in appreciative in spirit. John Grant turned away from the window with a sigh, the troubled upon His face slowly giving place to a look of resignation. He was 4oon ab sorbed in his writing and researches, for text hawaspreparing book, Hie second volume of a the first volume of which had been received with great favor. la a little while he detected a sweet, nubtle odor; next he heard the noise of a dmss; then he knew that his pretty ward w*» beside his desk. “Oh, for goodness sake stop poring dree these books I” she cried, more oar- 'nestly than flippantly, “They are sap¬ ping ning the hate life out of simply you. I because am begin¬ to them you love them." She leaned over his shoulder, her curls touching his cheek, the contact of her dress making his pulses beat faster. “ astronomy," ‘Astrology became the reading stepping aload stone to his she said, ‘Alchemy led from manuscript. “ to chemistry. Thus the dreams of one century became the science of the next.’ All that sounds very—very stilted, and it is a question whether it is true. Pray, come down from the stars, and out of your laboratory and your aimless dreams.” He made no reply to her rapid com¬ ment. He was accustomed to such in¬ structions and such criticism—and rather liked them. “Has Mr. Dclisle* gone?” he asked, looking up, no traces of his previous struggle perceptible in his face or tone. “Yes,” she said. “Why so soon?” her guardian asked. “Well, I sort of dismissed him,” she replied, with a little laugh. “He tired me. He is altogether too—too—wor¬ shipful.” “Ah!” ejaculated John Grant, trying ■ to catch her meaning, “I didn’t think a lover could be too worsh’pful, though I can understand how he might be too im¬ petuous. You are in a queer mode this morning, is breaking Valeria.” “It away, then,” she said, softly laughffig again. “Mr. Delisle, too, charged me with moodiness. I am certain I did not yawn. But I am not moody when I am with you. gardy. At least, I don’t want to be. Can’t ycu leave this work for a little while! There is still time for you to become famous. Get out the ponies and drive me over to the deserted fort. I want to gather some mosses, and the change will do you good.” “I saw Mr. Delisle’s team among the trees,” remarked John Grant. “Yes,” as ented she. “Didn't he ask you to take a drive!” “Oh, yes. he is very thoughtful?” “And you declined?” “Yes, gardy." “But—why?” “Out of pure contrariness, maybe. Perhaps Please I preferred to go with you. don’t question me so per sistcntly.” The color came and went in her face, and a girlish pout hung to her red lips for a moment. “All right,” John Grant said as he put aside his books, “I appreciate the preference.” The reply would have delighted her had his tonebeen less even and his air l° ss seren e. The drive was a pleasant one, and the ran ible about the old fort and its en virons more pleasant still, ^he charmed him with her smiles, her g ur shng laughter, her sallies of wit, her confessions of ignorance, her thorough abandonment to the enjoyment of the ^°Br. in his He said that to evening: himself, as he sat alone room “Hive in two atmospheres. One is evolved from my books, musty, abstruse, circumscribing, The other yet satisfactory and rest¬ comes from the compan i°nship of my ward, is bright, healthful, miserable, sympathetic, yet leaves me dissatisfied, wretched. Ah—it is because the books are mine, while she is not.” A year went by. Valeria grew more lovely, Mr. Delisle grew more persistent, Grant grow more morose, “Valeria, you are of age to-dav,” the ^ a ^ cr said. He had asked for a business interview and she was seated opposite his desk. s ^ e abhorred business details, but she knew that the occasion demanded her attention. The afternoon wa3 dying away. The red sunset shone against the windows. Some of the rays fell upon Valeria, heightening the sheen of her dress, re¬ vealing plexion the transparency of her corn and adding a shade of burnt gold to her beautiful hair, “My stewardship is closed,” John Grant continued, a faint regretfulness in his tone. “The court has approved my accounts. You are in sole possession of this vast estate. Wildermar is yours.” She watched him covertly, her hands folded in her lap, her face strangely sober. “I tried my best to discharge my duty faithfully,” he added, “Yes,” answered she, with a little gasp. “You found me selfish and will ful.” “No, Valeria,” promptly protestedhe. “Barely willful, and never selfish.” A painful sileace ensued. Her eyes were bent to the floor in intense, half painful thoughtfulness. She was review- in" the past—she was thinking of the future. “You will leave Wildermar?” she faintly asked. “Why, yes,” he said, passing his hand over tiis mouth to hide its twitching muscles. “My work here is done. I must seek new fields, a new home. lam not apprehensive.” dis “It seems not,” she said, a little tractedly. “Neither about yourself nor about me. But I am not competent to manage the estate, nor have I the incli nation. The responsibility is too great, Care is irksome to me. Mr. Grant, why can you not stay? Why can you not continue to manage? Whatever com pensation—” “No, with Valeria,” he interrupted, almost sterness. “Oh, since it isn’t agreeable to you I will not insist,” she said in a strident tone, a look of vexation on her face. reproachfully “Valeria, that wasn’t kind in you,”he said. “It has beenagreea ble to me, and it still would be. But, for reasons best known to myself, I must decline to oblige you.” “Always remember,” she rejoined, her tears very near, “that I have been grate ful for all you ever did for me.” “Why, to be sure, child,” he said. The word “child” brought an angry sparkle divine to her eyes. He saw it, but failed to the cause. “I merely did my duty,” John Grant resumed. “The court fixed the compen sation and I thought it sufficient. Mr. Delisle for doubt will help you to manage the farm, no you will shortly be married to him. You are pretty, intelligent, wealthy-” “Mr. Delisle has no designs upon my wealth,” she interrupted. “Why, of course not,” John Grant re plied, “I the color mounting to his cheeks. believe him to be the soul of honor, I never knew’ you to misinterpret my words with snch persistency.” “Have you anything more to «ay me, Mr. Grant?” she asked, after a pause. The voice did not sound like hers, He was used to her abrupt ways, and yet he found himself keenly scanning her. He had thought, at times, that she lacked womanly dignity, but he did not think so then. In spite of tier yonng face and innocent girlish ways there was an unmistakable atmosphere of high of breeding look about her, and a certain royalty and attitude. “I believe that I have nothing more to say at present,” he slowly replied. “To¬ morrow I can explain the accounts, especially those which refer to uncom¬ pleted She operations.” rose to her feet, and their eyes met. There was a yearning, wistful look in hers that he had never seen there before. “He cares little for 'Wildermar, and less for me,"she thought as she left the library, her lips quivering, a throb of pain Ah, at she the didn’t heart. know! It was hard to John Grant to leave Wildermar, with its extensive grounds, its lordly mansion, and its luxuriantly furnished rooms, and it was -harder still to leave the sweet, bright fervor young that girl whom he loved with a had something of idolatry in it. “I offended her in some way,” he his thought, his brows knit, the linos around mouth growing stern. “She does not seem very exuberant, now that she is in possession of Wildermar. The sense of proprietorship does not overwhelm her. I never saw such a dissatisfied look ou her face. I don’t understand her, and I’m afraid Mr. Delisle doesn’t, She tempted me fearfully, but I cannot stay! No, I cannot stay! I must go where I can forget!” sound That of night wheels he was awakened the drive. by the upon He looked out of his bedroom window. It was astonishment, moonlight, the and he saw, much to his ing under the family carriage stand trees. The horses were pawing restlessly, the stabieman was talking to them now and then in an undertone, while another male servant staggered into sight with a large trunk which John Grant recognized as his ward's. “Why, what does this mean?" he asked himself, puzzled and alarmed, and hurriedly he stepped dressinghimself. hall he As into the wide saw the dim outline of a shrinking form, and heard repressed breathing. “Is that you, Valeria?” he demanded, in an authoritative tone. voice “Yes,” scarcely she louder answered in dismay, whisper. her than a John Grant struck a match and lit the chandelier. There stood his ward equipped face for travel, expressing flurried vexsticn in her man¬ and ner, her chagrin. “This is a strange proceeding,” John Grant said, fixedly regarding her. “Goodness, you were not going to run away with Mr. Delisle?” “.No,” she simply said, a swift pallor crossing her face. “Nor can you possibly be running from him?” “No,” she hand said, pressed with an appealing gesture, one against her heart, “I am running away from myself. I am running away from yo'i, John Grant, That is the truth, however much it humiliates me to say it.” She shrank closer to the wall. Iicr lips clenched were tightly drawn. Her hands were in a spasm. There was a movement in her throat like the struggle of imprisoned words. A gleam of intense yearning shone in her eyes, and then the lids fell modestly over them, John Grant was dazed. He rubbed his temples, as if to aid himself to think with clearness. The light that broke across his face was like the play of light upon a dusky cloud. He took her hand and led her to one of the easy chairs in the hall. “Valeria,” he chokingly said, as he stood over her, his gaunt frame trembling, “do your words admit of more than one interpretation?” she buried her For reply face in her hands and burst into tears, distresses “Don’t, dear,” he gently said. “It me very much. Can it be possible that I have been so blind? Va leria, I have loved you for years—devot cdly, passionately, you—afraid wildly. have I was afraid to tell even to you sus pcct it. I supposed the knowledge would have made you miserable, yon are so sympathetic in your nature. Thedif- and ference in our years, your weath, all that, sealed my lips. And now that I know that my love is returned, my joy robs my speech of its fluency. I blurt out just what comes first to my mind, And are you not fond of Mr. Delisle?” “Mr. Delisle?” she repeated between her sobs. “Fond of him! Mr. Grant, I love you a thousand times more than I do him! You never would have known it only you—you—drove me into admit ting it.” could whether He not tell she was laughing or crying. He smoothed betrothal her hair, and impressed a kiss of on her cheek. “I’ll tell Amos to bring in your trunk,” he said “Yes, please.” “And I’ll stay to manage Wildermar.” “And me,” added Valeria, her face suffused with blushes, her eyes radiant. “Yes,” my precious,” he said, “or no, if you like that better.”— Detroit Free Press. The Hessians in the Revolution. The hiring of these troops wasbitterly condemned by l.ord John Cavendish in the House of Commons, and by Lords Camden and Shellburne and the Duko of Richmond in the House of Lords; and somewhat Chatham’s later indignant date familiar invectives at a are to every one. It is proper, however, that in such an affair as this we should take care to affix our blame in the right place. The King might well what argue that in carrying on a wa r for the majority of Par¬ liament regorded as a him righteous hire object, it was no worse for to men than to buy cannon and ships. The German troops,- ou their part, might j us Gy complain of Lord Camden for stigmatizing them a3 “mercenaries,” in asmuch *3 they did not come to Amer ica for pay. but because there was no help for it. It was indeed with a heavy heart, that these honest men took up their arms to go beyond sea and fight for a cause in which they felt no sort of interest, and great was the mourning ov ’cr their departure. The persons who really deserved to bear the odium'of thi* transaction were the mercenary princes who thus shamelessly sold their subjects into slavery. demoralization It was a striking had instance of the which been wrought in the among the days petty the courts old Empire, of Gcr many last of and among the German people it excited profouud indignation. expressed The Schiller, popular feeling was well by in his “Cabale und Liebe.” Frederick the great, in a letter to Voltaire, de dared himself beyond measure disgusted, his and by way Of publicly expressing contempt for the transaction he gave orders to his custom house officers that upon all such of these soldiers as should pass through levied, Prussian territory a toll should be as upon “cattle ex ported for foreign shambles.”—Atlantic Monthly. A hand organ man is teaching his monkey the art of boot-blacking; the American shines.—New public will not York put News. up money
