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MBS. A. J. DT.MWAT, tailor and Proprietor.
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VOLUME T"X.
POKTLAND, tK,EG01Sr, FKIDAY, OCTOBER ,' 187C.
NUMBER S.
EDNA AND JOHN:
A Romance or Idaho Fist.
Br MBS. A. J. DUNIWA Y,
ACTIIOU OF "JUDITH BEID," "ELLEN DOVFD,"
"AMIE AND HESKT LEE," "THE HAPPY
HOME," "ONE WOMAN'S SPHEBE,"
"MADGE 3IOKKISON,"
ETC, ETC., ETC
Entered, according to Act of Congress, In the
year 1870, by Hts. A. J. Dunlway, In the ofllce of
the Librarian of Congress at Washington City.
Woman's degraded, helpless position Is the
weak point of our Institutions to-day a dis
turbing orce everywhere, severing family ties,
filling our asylums with the deaf, the dumb,
the blind, our prisons with criminals, our clt
les with drunkenness and prostitution, our
homes with disease and deaths National Cen
tennial Equal Rights Protest.
CHAPTER IL
"What's the matter, John ?" queried
Edna, as her liege lord came sauntering
into the dainty suite of rooms which a
young couple in their circumstances
would not have thought of engaging at
the price, had they been brought up
with the remotest idea of the value of
money.
John was pale and careworn and cross,
"I wish I hadn't married !" he ex
claimed, bitterly.
Edna had not before seen him in such
a mood; but, in truth, she had been
wishing ever since they had been
twenty-four hours married the very
eame thing, yet she would not, for the
world, have woun'ded his feelings by
saying so.
"Why, John, what's the matter?"
and her heart gave a great painful throb
of dread and expectation. .
"Matter enough, Ed. I'm dead broke!
The ole man's cut off my 'lowance, and
left me without a shilling. It would
have been hard enough if I'd been a
bachelor, but with a wife on my hands
to support, it's deuced tough."
Edna turned deathly pale. Was this
the same adorable John who had courted
her so faithfully, who had written scores
of model love-letters, any oue of which
abounded in enough of protestations of
eternal fealty to have stocked a life
time, had they been ratified by conscien
tiousness.
"Are you tired of me, John ?"
The question came as though
wrenched from her with a spasmodic
pang.
"Much good it'll do me if I am tired!"
said John. "I'm in for it, and I'd just
as well submit to fate."
"I'll be a burden on your hands no
longer, John," replied Edna, her lips
white and her eyes flashing.
John laughed, impudently.
"What now?" he asked, in a con
strained attempt to appear playful.
"Just what I mean, John Smith! God
knows I'd be free from you from this
time forward if wishing would free me;
but the fiat has gone forth. I've be
come your lawful wife and must abide
the consequences; but a burden on your
bands I never will be."
John attempted a facetious whistle.
"Oue would think you belonged to
the short-haired tribe of the strong
minded, to see you put on airs!" he
said, after a painful silence on Edna's
part.
The dinner bell rang.
"Are you going down ?" asked John.
"No, Mr. Smith. You've enough to
do, according to your own statement, to
support yourself. I'm going to my
mother."
This was a turn in the tide of John's
affairs which was wholly unanticipated.
"What new crochet are you uuising
now?" he asked, in alarm.
"The crochet of a new and unlooked
for necessity," was the calm reply.
Edna had left her father and mother
to cleave unto John, accompanied with
but a single change of wardrobe. This
meagre allowance had been liberally re
plenished by the enraptured Benedict,
upon the occasion of their marriage; but
now that he was taunting her with be
ing burdensome, she would not touch
an article that he had bought.
"Mr. Smith," said Edua, for the sec
ond time in her life addressing her hus
band by the name of which she was
ashamed, "we must rigidly observe the
proprieties, "iou go down to dinner
and tell the inquisitive boarders that
I've been invjted out. It's half true,
you know, for you've given me an un
mistakable invitation to go out. After
I'm gone, you can pretend you've con
eluded to go and join me. You can go
where you like. I'll go to my mother."
"And get a fool's luck for your pains."
"What do you mean ?"
"I mean that you'll find the home of
Edna Smith a very different establish
ment from the borne of Edna Ruther
ford." "It oan't be any worse than the home
of my husband, when he not only has
none to ofler me, but accuses me of be
ipg burdensome, even in the honey
moon," sobbed Edna.
One by one the little trinkets her hus
band had bestowed upon- her in their
short-lived period of happiness were
laid aside.
"If you had only told me your cir
cumstances, John, I wouldn't have en
couraged you to buy these," she said
holding up a glittering pair of gold
bracelets, with claspings set in ame
thysts.
"It goes in a life-time," answered
John.
How Edna did wish that John would
urge her to remain ; how she longed
for him to say : "Never mind poverty.
We'll live aud love and toil together."
It did not occur to her that she ought
herself to make such a suggestion. She
only realized that John was weary of
her. Her pride did the rest.
The single change of clothing she had
brought to the new copartnership was
away at the wash, and she would not
attempt to wait for it.
With a great load of suppressed emo
tion tugging at her heart strings, aud a
deep sense of unutterable humiliation
overpowering her whole belug, the
young wife turned her footsteps from
the fleeting, unrealized dream of her
marriage into the aching void of an
other rash endeavor, which, let For
tune's wheel turn as it might, could but
add to her present perplexity.
John did not believe that she would
go. Ediia did not mean to go when she
bad first threatened. She thought he
would have said something by way of
urging her to remain and bear with his
bad humors, or give him opportunity to
amend them, .while he fancied that she
would break down and weep and beg to
be reinstated.
Both reckoned without their host, as
we have seen.
With a firm step Edua descended the
broad stairs aud directed herself toward
the consummation of the second great
folly of her young life.
A few hours' ride aud she beheld her
self in the little mirror of iter mother's
great farm kitchen, as pale as a corpse,
aud panting like a frightened hare.
Mrs. Rutherford dropped the roll oi
butter she was moulding aud instinct
ively wiped her hands.
"Oh, Edna !"
"Mother, may I come home to stay?"
Mrs. Rutherford was almost as badly
shocked as she had been over her
daughter's elopement.
"You don't mean to say you've left
your husband, Edua?"
"Yes, mother."
"Why ?"
' "He saj's he can't support me."
"My child, you should have taken
that part into consideration long ago.
But come into the parlor; dear. I want
to talk to you. As Mrs. Smith, I am
willing to do what I can for you, though
God knows that's very little; but I can
not harbor you as a fugitive wife,
daughter; not even if my heart-strings
break with a longing to do it."
"Why, mother?"
"Because, child, you have taken upon
yourself the marriage 'vows. If your
husband casts you off, and refuses to al
low you to remain in his custody, you
may come to me, of course witli your
father's permission. I have no rights
of my own in the premises. But, if he
will not harbor you, there is no alterna
tive. You must look out for your own
support."
"Mother, were you always of this
opinion?"
"Yes, my child."
"Then, why in the name- of common
humanity did you not keep me out of a
boarding school and'bring me up in the
kitcheu ?"
"Alas, child ! I had great anticipa-
ions for you. I thought your accom
plishments would enable you to marry
rich and honored aud titled gentle
man, iou spoiled my dream and
thwarted my hopes by a runaway aud
nferior match. It would not do for
your father to see you here: There is
no telling what he might do or say."
Before her marriage Edna would have
willingly risked her own influence over
her father In any common emergency.
Now she was afraid to meet him, and
not without reason.
"Mother," she said, sternly, for she
seemed suddenly to have launched, full
fledged, iuto experienced womanhood,
'you can help me, and you must."
"How, child?"
"You must loan me. some money."
".Edna? You must he crazy. Why
I've never had control of a dollar in all
my married life !"
Do you think father would help
me?"
"He swears he will not. Oh, Edna
if you had-ouly remained at home !"
"My mother dear, I'll not reproach
you; but 1 cannot forbeardeclariugthat
you and my father are more to. blame
for my life-mistakes than I. You
brought me up a hot-house plant, when
you knew I would some day be trans
planted to the weather-beach. You se
eluded me from the society aud ac
quaintance of men, though you knew
that such associations were natural and
that through all my after life I'd be
thrown Into the power of a husband. If
I have made" a mistake, my parents
should help me bear it." .
Solon Rutherford had entered unpr-
ceived and had heard his daughter'
truthful speech.
"What now ?" he asked, merely as
matter of form, for the news of Joh
Smith's disinheritance had already
leached him.
, Edna approached him in tears.
"Go to the devil!" stormed the ex
lted father.
"All right!" said Edna. "Mother,
farewell! And now, mark my word,
you'll be proud of me some day. You
never see me again till I haveconquered
life and brought fate to my feet."
In a tnomeut Edna was gone, and the
unhappy parents were glaring upon
each other like tigers.
"Yon cursed her, Solon, and she
your own flesh and blood !" saw tne
mother, bitterly.
"She's no Rutherford !" was the ex
cited response.
From that -day henceforward, for
many years, tne name or luina was not
breathed in Solon Rutherford's pres
ence. The good wife grew strangely
reticent, and a' queer gleam of cunning
sometimes lit up her mysterious eyes;
but Solon noted no change, or if he saw,
appeared purposely indifferent.
Twilight was coming.- Edna passed
out through the hall of the old house
and down the back steps, out into a
waving cornfield.
"Where can I go, or whither flee ?"
she asked he'rself; but no answer came
to solve the fearful problem. "I can't
go back to John; I can't seek refuge at
the home of my brothers aud sisters af
ter my parents have cast me off. I'm
too conscientiously proud of theirstand
ing in society to seek service in the
neighborhood and cause a nine days'
scandal and make them ashamed of me.
In all the wide world I have nowhere to
lay my head."
In the far edge of the waving corn
field dwelt an old lady in a rude hut,
surrounded by a kitchen garden with
sun-flowers guarding the entrance, and
atthehumbledoora festoon of morning
glories. "Aunt Judy will not drive me away,"
she said, half audibly, as she climbed
the stile and walked timidly up the
narrow path leading to the humble en-
ranee.
For many years "Aunt Judy" had in
habited this rude hut alone. She was a
istant relative of Edna's father, and
had sometime jeen better days, though
nobody could break through the icy ret
icence of her demeanor to learn why it
was that she had come to poverty, lone-
n ess, auil grief.
"Aunt Judy," said Edna, with an air
of abandonment that to the lonely indi-
idual thus addressed, who had only
nown her in her brilliant moods, was
perfectly bewildering, "will you let me
share your home? I need a friend, and
u all the wide world I have no other to
whom I can go for protection."
"What, my child ! So soon ?" and
Aunt Judy offered her an old-fashioned
easy chair, and when the weary child
as seated, stood over her smoothing
her brow and patting her pale cheeks
with her soft, cool palm. "Have your
Sodom apples turned to ashes already,
pet ?"
Edna had been nerved to apparent
stony-heartedness under censure; but
the sympathy of Aunt Judy broke, up
the fountain of her tears.
"Yes, auntie. I've reaped the bitter
fruit of rashness, ignorance, and diso
bedience much sooner, it seems, than
ou imagined."
"Has your husband discarded you ?"
"No, auntie; not that, exactly; but he
taunted me with being a burden on his
bauds to support, and I couldn't bear
it."
"Is that all, child ? Why, bless your
simple heart, there's millions of women
bearing that taunt every day in meek
ness aud submission."
"No, auntie, it isn't all; but it's
enough, goodness knows. Yet there's a
greater trouble. There's nothing for a
support nothing at all. John has al
ways lived on an annuity, from which
his friends have cut him off, now he's
married, and my father won't help us,
and neither of us knows how to do any
thing."
"The more shame for you both, if you
don't, Edua."
I know it, auntie. But what can I
do? You know how it would humiliate
my friends if I should create scandal
here by going out to service or to teach,
now I'm married. And it would hu
miliate me so I couldn't hold my head
up, to have the world say my husband
couldn't support me."
Why, bless you, child, there isn't
one man in hundreds who has the name
of supporting a wife that does It. Look
at your father, for instance, and your
married brothers. The nucleus of their
riches is in their farm-houses, where the
wife holds the helm. There was old
man Case, down in the Missouri bottom.
He was rich, you kuow. Well, his wife
died -a few years ago, and he was like n
watch with a main-spring broken. He
ran down and remained down. He
came here a-courting me one day,:
Aunt Judy blushed and hesitated, "and
he said there was no such thing as pros
pering without a woman."
"What did you tell him, auntie?" and
Edna smiled through her tears.
"Told him I was sorry for him, but
not quite sorry enough to walk in the
track of the dead Mrs. Case," replied
the old lady, with a mellow chuckle.
weii, auntie, wuat snail i uo y I've
resolved that I will not endure the
.taunts of John about my helplessness.
When women were, uneducated and
kept in utter ignorance of their own
dormant powers, maybe they didn't
mind it; but it's different now-a-days."
"My child, if you intend to do as you
please, .don'-t mock me by asking my
advice, I beg you."
"But, auntie, I only want your ad
vice about making a living." .
"Edna, dear, you married your hus
blind and took the vows upon-you for
better or for worse, you know."
"I never thought of the worse, auntie.
There wasn't any 'worse' considered in
any book on love and marriage that I
ever read. I wish I bad the framing of
text books for schools."
"Would you improve them ?"
"Indeed I would. I'd teach both boys
and girls the ethics of matrimony, finan
cially considered. I'd keep them to
gether during, school hours, too, and
give them opportunity to get mutually
acquainted. Then I'd see that each
candidate for wedded experience had
mastered some particular business and
had learned to apply it practically be:
fore legal marriage was possible."
"You're learning lessons rapidly, my
dear," said Aunt Judy, as she left her
vistor to prepare a cup of tea.
"Alas, I've learned too late !" sighed
Edna, as she closed her eyes to think
and plan.
By and by the frugal meal was ready,
hut Edua could not eat. Aunt Judy
purred about her like a motherly house
cat, but encouraged and soothed her to
little purpose.
"There's one thing certain, child,"
she declared, earnestly; "you've made
your bargain and you must abide by it.
I'll gladly harbor you for the preseut,
but only with the understanding that
you'll return to your duty as soon as
your plans are made. If only somebody
had harbored, advised, and encouraged
me in the long ago but that's all
past "
"Have you a history, auntie?" cried
Edna, with a show of the old girlish in
terest.
"Yes, child a burled, and uot-to-be-resurrected
one," was the apathetic an
swer, while a far-away look beamed in
her faded eyes, and a fluttering, half-
stifled sigh escaped her.
"You cannot leave your husband,
Edna," she continued, after a dreamy
pause. "You have crossed the gulf be
tween yourself and girlhood. Grass
widows are not to be tolerated in our
family."
"But my husband is utterly incapable
as a busiuess mau, auntie," protested
the inexperienced girl-wife. '
"Then, dear, you must be doubly in
telligent, firm and strong. You have
formed a legal, indissoluble tie between
yourself and him. .You have done this
deed deliberately, and must abide the
consequences. It's the old adage, 'Marry
in. haste and repent at leisure.' "
- "But repentance without restitution
is fruitless, auntie."
"So the rich man Dives discovered to
Iiis sorrow, hut 'twas all the good it did
him," was the hopeless answer.
To be continued.
Barbara TJttman.
She sleeps in the church-yard at An
naberg. Under an old lime-tree rises
the tomb erected to her memory by the
pious Anuabergers. An it is iuscribed :
"Here lies Barhaka TJttman, died' H Janu
ary, 1573, whose Invention of lace In the year
15G1 made her the benefactress ot the Ilartz
Mountains.
" An active mind, a skillful hand.
uring oiessmgs uown on tne f atner-ianu."
The honor of introducing billow-lace
making into Germany is by common
consent accorded to Barbara Uttman,
or rather Barbara Etterlein, for that
was her maiden name. She was born
n 1514, in Etterlein, a small town in
Saxony, which derives its name from
her family. JieT parents, burgheis of
jNuretnbeig, nad removed to the Saxon
Hartz Mountains for the purpose of
working some mines. Here Barbara
married a rich master-miner, Christo
pher Uttman, of Annaberg. It is said
that she had learned the art of making
plliow-lace from a native of Brabant a
Protestaut lady, whom the cruelties of
the Duke of Alva had driven from her
country. Barbara had observed the
mountain girls engaged in making net
work for the miners to wear over their
hair; she took great interest in the
work, and, profiting by the knowledsre
derived from the Brabant lace-worker,
she succeeded in making her pupils pro
duce, first, a fine-knitted tricot, and af
terward a Kind ot plain lace ground. In
1561, having procured aid from Flan
ders, she set up, in her own name of
Barbara Uttman, a workshop at Anna
berg, and there began to make laces of
various patterns. This branch of indus
try soon spread from the Bavarian fron
tier to Altenberg and Giessen, giving
employment to thirty thousand persons
ami producing a revenue of one million
ttmlers. liaruara Uttman died in 1575,
leaving sixty-five descendants, children
and grandchildren. It is said that when
she was taking lessons of her Braba'nt
teucuer, alter she had .completed her
tirst attempt at making lace grouud or
reseau, her teacher took the small piece
in her hand atui carefully counted the
stitches which Barbara had made.
'Why do you count the stitches?"
inquired Barbara of the gentle lady.
".Because," she replied, "I wish to
know how many of your children will
weep at your funeral."
"How many?" again inquired Bar
bara, never doubting the fulfillment of
the prophecy, for that was in the Mid
dle Ages.
"Slxty-uve," was the answer.
Barbara believed Iter friend, aud so it
actually came to pass. Emily V. Bat
Icy in ITarpcr's Magazine for October.
George Eliot says that a young man's
eyes first opeu to the world when he is
In love. This is uot always so. Usu
ally it is when he has gone away from
home and. had his washing sent out for
the first time, arid finds among it when
it is returned an odd stocking with two
red stripes' around the top, and long
enough to button around his neck.
JSorwich Bulletin.
' A subscription paper circulated for
some charity purpose was presented to
a wealthy French manufacturer, who
subscribed twenty francs. "Twenty
francs I" said the lady who presented it,
"why, your son subscribed fifty fraucs."
"That is all very well," was the reply:
"my son has a rich father and can af
ford to give more than I, who shall in
herit nothing."
Moving for .a new trial courting
second wile.
DRESS, WOMAN'S FREEDOM, ETO.
BY MRS. S. HEWES, M. D.
Permit me to say a word in regard to;
woman's dress. It is a familiar saying
that it compresses and restricts the free
and normal action of vital functions,
thereby enfeebling and deteriorating
the physical and mental condition of
our American women.
We become slaves to the fashions of
the day. Perhaps the only publication
subscribed for, or read by many a
mother of a family, or by the young
miss, is a ladies' fashion book, which
brings tx fresh installment of flounces,
puffs, tucks, aud ruffles each month.
Suppose you discard this, which tends
to enslave and crucify you, for some
health journal that will help to make
you free. Dress is one of the prin
cipal hindrances- to woman's freedom.
As to fitness, grace, propriety, delicacy,
simplicity and proportion, all are out
raged. The belle of the times, it is
said, is one panorama of awful surprise.
Her clothes characterize her, she is up
holstered, and her dress has not one of
the attributes of nature nor of proper
art. She seems a sort of a dazzle of
broken effects. Custom has reconciled
us to these strange figures, but years
hence our children will look upon them
with astonishment. Such an amount
of time is taken, and such a waste of
mental power involved in adjusting the
manifold mysteries of dress, that but
little time can bfc given to higher ob
jects.
This reaching out after fashion, dress,
flowers, colors, variety of patterns, the
trivial light fancy work, etc., only
proves that woman's intellect must
have some object on which to spend its
force. We would disarm prejudice, and
bring women face to face with them
selves; let them see their present help
less, dependent inaction, bound up in
silks aud laces, with bodies enfeebled
and intellects dwarfed these on one
hand, aud what they might have been
with proper use aud culture of the tal-
euts which God has given them on the
other. Let us snap the chains which
have bound us, aud step forth free;
raise up from the sleep of ages, and dare
to assert our own individuality.
This movement for the emancipation
of woman is based upon a structure
whose foundation stones are right and
justice. It will succeed, because it con
tains a germ already burstiug into full
bloom, aud will continue to unfold, and
shoot upward to greet the sunlight of
heaven. Think you, gentlemen, that
woman would dress the same, and fol
low in her preseut walk, were she called
to responsible, practical, earnest reali
zation of the nobleness of position, of
duty, of occupation and influence that
she might and must arrive at? From
the practical knowledge of many brave
pioneer women who are doing noble
duty to-day, we answer, she would not.
But, witl.i practical unfoldment, with
honored labor, and with suitable remu
nerat;on for the same, she will robe her
person for the work. She will stand
by your side the true helpmate that na
ture designed her to be. She will be as
the day star that will lead you to
nobler stand-point, and she will give to
the world a superior race of men and
women that shall rise up in grandeur
and call her blessed. Yes, my brothers,
the time is at hand. This great array
of aggrieved mothers is this hour
knocking at your door. They ask in
earnest pleadings to be admitted to full
communion; to sit by your side; to
stand by your side; to work earnestly
with you for the formation of more per
fect laws laws that shall give equality
to each and every one; to remove the
heavy burden of taxation, and let the
oppressed go free.
True to the End. Lady Franklin
holds a foremost place among the faith
ful and true. When her husband, bi
John Franklin, did not return at the
expected time from his last expedition
to the North seas, apprehensions Degun
to be seriously entertained respecting
his fate and that of his brave compan
ion9. Lady Franklin oflered rewards ot
JE2.000 and JC3,ouu to any persous uiscov
eriug or affording relief to the missing
nartv. or maKinir any extraordinary ei-
fort with this object. She appealed to
the American people to assist iu the
search, and she herselt determined upon
organized, aud to a great extent de
frayed the expenses or two expeditions
to seeK lor traces oi the missing party.
For years she refused to give up hope,
and it was only when Captain McClm
tock returned with what were cousid
ered full proofs of his death, that she
rested-in her endeavors to prosecute the
search. To quote the words of Sir Rod
erick Murchison: "Nothing daunted by
failure after failure, she persevered
through years of hope deferred with
singleness of purpose and a sincere de
votion which were truly unparalleled.'
The little ship "Pandora," which is
now actiuff as the medium oi communi
cation between England and the pres
ent Arctic explorers, was tltted out 1
great part at her expense before her
death.
Must Do It. Ann Eliza does not
propose to be worsted by Brigham
Young in the matter of her alimony
The order requiring payment In the
case not having been complied with, an
execution has been issued and placed l
the bands of proper officers, who at
tached about $4,000 worth of property
cousisting of horses, carriages and other
goods, to satisfy the judgment for $3,600
alimony due the piaintitr.
Ploughing in unbroken furrows si
miles long can be seen iu Fargo, Call
fornla.. The teams start iu the morn
insr. and make one trip across an entire
township and back before dinner, and
the same in the afternoon, making
twenty-four miles travel every day.
DN0LE BEN ANDATJliT MARJORY.
To the Editor op the New Northwest:
As I told you before, I Was quite sick
after getting that supper for Tom, but,
as he seemed penitent, I didn't mind it
much. I felt like I could endure
more if Tom could be brought to see the
error of his ways. The house was in a
topsy-turvy condition all the time, and,
before I could go about, everything in
seemed to have given out, for nobody
could find anything when it was wanted.
Tom thought he emulated the example
f "the man in the land of Uz whose
name was Job," aud that .he even
clipsed that patriarch in the exercise
of his favorite virtue, because, in all
that time, he didn't say anything worse
than "Confound it!" with all his
might. . I am afraid his constitution
would have been injured by this suffer-
ng in silence if, just when I began to
convalesce, Uncle Ben had not con
cluded to go to the Centennial. This
left Aunt Marjory all alone, but she
as not alone more than half a day till
she took Tom and me as company
boarders. We locked our doors on the
confusion within our own house, aud,
ithout any ado, took possession of
Aunt Marjory's pleasant rooms. I wish
you could kntfw Aunt Marjory. She is
such a good, motherly woman, and
everything about her has such an air of
comfort that I never see her without
feeliug as if I had been away and wps
ome at last, let, notwithstanding
this, her face is seldom free from an ex
pression of quiet concern, and it comes
Uncle Ben's unreasonableness. I
was not surprised to find that, he being
gone, she seemed to breathe easier, aud
acted just the least hit as if she had but
ust escaped from bondage; for, though
often bring railing accusations against
Tom on account of his having some
ays that make me feel like taking to
stump speaking, I am always devoutly
thankful that he is not like Uncle Ben.
When I was a child and visited Aunt-
Marjory, I always went away with the
ague impression that the world was
made for Uncle Ben, or, anyway, that
e thought so. His is a spirit that was
born to rule, and to rule everything;
for, while concerning himself about the
'weightier matters of the law," he does
not think it beneath him to concern
himself about the most minute details
f household economy. He thinks he
knows more than the most of people,
aud especially more thau Aunt Mar-
ory. He is a sworn enemy to misman
agement, and don't he know that what
is wasted in li is kitchen would feed all
the paupers in town ? As a woman
never knows anything about even the
first principles of economy, he provides
provisions in the smallest retail quanti
ities, and, when Aunt Marjory informs
him that there is nothing out of which
to manufacture the next meal, he is
morally certain that the last supply has
been wasted. Didn't he see things go
ing to waste every day of his life?
When their three children were at
home, and any one of them did any
thing displeasing to pater famiiias, it
was Aunt Marjory who received the
blame. He would like to know what iu
the world she had that child do that
for? She was always having them do
something wroug. When any of them
were sick, it was all because she had let
them take cold, or had been giving
them unwholesome food. Then dowu
came "Uuun's f amily Physician" from
the shelf, and symptoms discovered of
every disease described in the volume,
and the conclusion invariably reached
was that the case in hand was one of
worms. Didn't he know ? And, if Aunt
Marjory diflered from him, it was
because she never seemed to know what
she ought to know. It was not sur
prising that the girl married young,
and that the boys went off to the mines,
all of which was against Uncle Ben'
wishes, but, of course, it was Aunt
Marjory's doings.
How nice it was at Aunt Marjory'i
witli Uncle Ben away, and how gay sh
seemed ! Yet, I thought there must
have been a time when his society
made her happier thau everything else.
only the twenty odd years had played
havoc with the romance and sentiment.
One day, when I was thinking over
this state of affairs, and wondering
if there wasn't a great deal of good po
etry wasted in describing the duration
of tender sentiments, Uncle Ben sud
denly appeared, valise and traveling
straps in hand. When the excitement
was over and bo had tried to tell
what he bad seen, I said:
"Oh, how I should love to go if I had
the money ! How much did it cost
you, Uncle Ben ?"
"About three hundred and fifty dol
lars; but I got the worth of my money
I don't regret spending it for such
sight as that."
"How nice it would have been for
Aunt Marjory! Why didn't you take
her along?" I ventured.
"I couldu't afford It."
"Well, then, how could you afford to
go yourself?" Tasked, feeling as if
should like to whip Uucle Ben in the
name of womankind.
"Two would spend twice as much
If she had had auy money she could
have gone, I.suppose."
"If she had. had any money ! Whose
money did you spend, I should like to
know?" I said, feeling uncomfortably
warm.
"Mine. I worked hard enough and
long enough for it to call it mine," and
Uncle Ben looked unutterable things.
"Aunt Marjory has worked hard
enojigh and long enough to call some of
your money hers. Had I been in her
place, I should have demanded back
pay and gone to the Centennial too," I
retorted.
"It doe3 beat all ! You women have
all gone crazy ! As though a man
didn't support a woman all for nothing,
and then she must talk about 6ac pay !
I am sure I should feel that I fared well
if I got supported without having any
trouble about it myself. Bach pay!
Backpay!"
"If she had worked for any one else
half so hard as she has worked for you
these twenty-four years, she would have
had more than three hundred and fifty
dollars to show for it now. You have
taken what she has helped you to earn,
and spent it all on yourself. That is
the true state of the case."
When I said this he launched out iu a
tirade against woman's rights, because
t
always disturbed the peace of fam-
les ! This would probably have lasted
the rest of the day if it had not been
that a peddler cut it short by walkfug
n aud displaying his wares. Amoug
them were some silver thimbles, and
Aunt Marjory was on the point of buy-
ng one when Uncle Ben interfered by
saying that a thimble was not worth so
much, and he kuew she didn't need it.
Then I couldu't help saying, "Yes, it Is
fine thing to practice economy on
Aunt Marjory's thimbles after spend-
ng three hundred and fifty dollars on
ourself that you have nothing now to
how for!" Then his wrath exploded,
aud we couldu't pacify him in any way.
know I was rude, aud I think Aunt
Marjory thought so too, aud it took her
week to briug matters right again,
nee that time I have relapsed iuto si-
ence on the "vexed question, " but I
ou'tseewby telling the truth should
make a mau boil over so.
Madge Brioiit.
A Noble Revenge.
The coffin was a plain one a poor,
miserable pine coffin. No flowers on
ts top; no lining oi white satin for the
pale brow; no smooth ribbons about
the coarse shroud. Tiie brown hair was
aid decently back, but -there was no
crimpe'd cap with its neat tie beneath
the chin. The suilerer trom cruel pov-
rty smiled in her sleep; she had fuuud
bread, rest aud health.
"I want to see my mother," sobbed a
poor little child, as the undertaker
screwed down the top.
iou can't get out or the way.
Why don't somebody take the brat?"
"Only let me see her one minute:"
cried the helpless orphan, clutching the
ide of the chariot box; aud, as he gazed
nto the rough face, airouized leare
streamed rapidly down a cheek on
which a childish bloom ever lingered.
Oh, it was painful to hear him cry:
'Only once let me see my mother
only once!"
tiuicUly and brutally the hard
hearted monster struck the boy away,
so tlvt he reeled with the blow. For a
moment the boy stopped, panting
witli grief and rage, his blue eyes dis
tended, his lips sprung apart, a fire
glittering through his tears, as he raised
Ins nunv arm, and; with a most un-
chiidisli accent, screamed, "When I am
a man, I will kill you for that!"
There was a collln and a heap of earth
between the mother and. the poor, for
saken child. A monument, much
stronger than granite, was built in his
boy heart to the memory oi the Heart
less deed.
a f
The court-house was crowded to suffo
cation.
"Does any man appear as this man's
counsel?" asked the judge.
There was a silence when he had fin
ished, until, with tips tightly pressed
together, and a look of strange intelli
gence blended with haughty reserve
upon his handsome features, a young
man stepped forward, with a firm tread
and kindly eye, to pleatl for the erring
and friendless. He was a stranger, but
from his first sentence there was si
lence. The splendor of his genius en
trancedconvinced. The man who
could not find a friend was acquitted.
"God bless you, sir. 1 cannot."
"I want no thanks," replied the
stranger.
"I l believe you are unKnown to
me."
"Man ! I will refresh your memory.
Twenty years ago you struck a broken
hearted boy away from his mother's
coffin. I was that boy."
The man turned livid.
"Have you rescued me, then, to take
my life?"
"2o, 1 have a sweeter revenge. 1
have saved the life of a man whose
brutal deed has rankled in my breast
Tor twenty years. Go ! and remember
the tears of a friendless child."
The man bowed his head in shame,
and went from the preseuce of magna
nimity as grand to him as lncompre-
heusible.
Those acquainted with Mr. Tilden's
habits are not surprised at liis delay in
writing bis letter of acceptance. His
whole correspondence, they say, is al
ways behind. He has not yet answered
Mr. Greeley's letter, written eight years
ago, charging him with the responsibil
ity of the ballot-box stufling in New
York City. Detroit IKst.
"What will you have?" asked a
waiter of one of the Indiana editors at
the dinner in Philadelphia, as he hand
ed him a bill of fare. And the Hoosier
with the high forehead leaned back in
the chair, wiped his forehead thought
fully with a napkin, and ejaculated,
sternly, "Gimme ail!"
"The people," says Mr. Tilden, "have
paid in eleven years the enormqus sum
of $4,500,000,000 for taxes." It must be
confessed that Sam has rather got the
people on this point. They can't say he
did it, or any large part of it. Mil
waukie Sentinel.
Perseverance accomplishes more thau
precipitation. Sadi.