The Columbian., January 18, 1884, Image 1

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THE COLUMBIAN.
THE COLUMBIAN.
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1
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PUBLISHED EVERY FRIDAY,
AT
ST. HELENS, COLUMHIA CO., Oil.,
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Published Evert Friday,
AT
ST. HELENS, COLUMBIA CO., OR.,
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VOL. IV.
ST. HELENS,! COLUMBIA COUNTY, OREGON, JANUARY 18, 1884.
NO. 24.
Each subsequent insertion
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COL
"t n rr,Tr a t .t"
A GIRL'S FOLLY. i"
A small, sujerior cottage of bright
red brick, sweet-scented woodbine trail
ing over its rustic porcb, a green" lawn
before it- surrounded by flowers, and a
charming country landscape "spreading
out in the distance. Inside, in its
small but pretty parlor, on the red
, table-cover waited the tea-tray, with its
cnps and saucers. Tho window stood
open to the still, warm autumn air, and
the French porcelain clock on the
mantel-piece was striking 5.
A slender girl of some 20 years came
in. She was very lovely. But her
bright blue eyes bore a sort of weary
or discontented look, and her bright
brown hair "was somewhat ruiLeel. She
wore a print washing-dress of black
and white, neither very smooth nor
very fresh, and a lace neck collarast
ened with a bow of black ribbon.
. She had made an appoin'ment to
meet Eeginald Vavasour, a rich young
gentleman who had made her acquaint
ance down by the willow walk, and her
lover, Thomas Watkyn, hacVtold her ho
could call that evening. Just before he
left, he said :
"May I ask you to do mo a little
favor, Thomas?"
"What is it V" ho repeated.
"If you would not very much mind
going home by the hill and would leavo
this note at Miss Ford's. I particularly
wish her lo have it this evenirg."
He paused for an instant, not reply
ing. She went ou hurriedly:
"I see that it is disagreeable to you.
I havt"ffei ded you too much."
"ot that," he answered, hold ng out
his hand - for the note. "But k can
hardly spare the time for the long way
this evening, as I have to call at Kill
ick's for my father. However " he
said no more, but took the note.
'Good-bv, Thomas."
"Good-by."
"I'm glad he took the note ! I shall
be safe now."
Miss Alison Reecewas a clever young
lady.. The direct and near way to Mr.
Watkyns home would lead him pa t 'the
willow wa'k. She had advised this im
promptu note to her dressmaker in the
afternoon to prevent his taking that
usual route. Had he seen young Vav
asour cooling his heels within the pre
cincts of the willow walk he would in
eiably suspect he was r a t i g t) keep
a lover's tryst.
Alison was busy in the kitchen
next morning when she heard her
mother open the fiont door an J some
one cenie in. "It is that chattering
Mrs. Bennett," thought she, as she
dried the teaspoons.
"Alison, come here," ca'lel her
mother, in a quick voice.
She went to the parlor just as she
was her sleeves turned 1 ack at the
wrist, a large, brown Ib-lhvid apron on.
Very pretty she looked with it all. But
it was net Mrs. Benuett who rat with
her mother; it was a venerable, white
haired old gentleman Mr. Watkyn
the elder.
"I am come to ask about Thomas,1
said he. "I believe he can:o here last
night, Miss Alison; at what time did he
leave you?
A prevision struck her with a sort of
terror that something was wrong. Ho
left quite early," she faltered.
"Well, he has never come home'
jot come liome. she sam, with, a
whitening face.
"I sat np till 1 o'clock, and then I
thought the mist must have kept
Jam; that he had stayed at some friends
house. I knew not what to think, and
that he would be home the first thintr
this morning. But we have not seen
him, and cannot hear of him."
Mr?. Tie ce was impr. used i h the
frigbtcne.!, guilty look that A iou
could not keep out of her countenance,
and began to feel uneasy. "Cannot you
tell what time it was when he left you ?"
she demanded, sternlv,
"It was afl r dusk. It wis just after
s:mse' efo e the mi: t cmio on. It
must have been near 7 o'clock."
"Which road did he take?" purs ied
Mrs. Beece. And very reluctantly
Alison answered for 'She foresaw it
would bring on further questioning:
" The long road round bv the hill."
"Bound by the hill?" echoed Mr. Wat
kyn in alarmed surprise. Miy did he
take that way ?"
Alison Hushed and paled alternately;
her lips were trembling. The fear
creeping upon her was that he and
young Vavasour had met and quar
reled. Perhaps fought and injured one
another fatally. In these dread mo
ments of suspense the mind is apt to
conjure up far-fetched and unlikely
thoughts.
" I asked him to go around that
may," she replied, in a timid tone. " I
wanted him to leave a note for mo at
the dressmaker's."
Old Mr. Watkyn sank into a chair,
putting his hands before his troubled
face. " I see it all," he breathed
faintly: " He must have fallen down
the Scar."
Alison muttered a scream of horror.
" Deceived by the mist, he must have
walked too near the edge," continued
the old man. " Heaven grant that it
may not be so, but I fear it. Was he
mad, to attempt to cross the plateau on
such a night ?"
Catching up his hat, Mr. Watkyn
went out swiftly. Mrs. Beece grabbed
her daughter's hands. They were icy
cold.
"Alison, what passed between you
and Thomas last night ?"
"Don't ask me, mother. Let me
follow Mr. Watkyn. I cannot rest in
doors. Oh, it cannot, cannot be as ho
fears?"
"Not one step until you tell me what
passed," said the "mother firmly.
"There's more in all this than meet3
the eye."
"He asked me to give up talking to
Mr. Vavasour."
"And you refused. Well?"
"He told me I must choose between
them," continued Alison, bursting into
tears. "Oh, mother, it was all my folly,
all my temper ; he could not see that,
and when lie went away he said he
went for good."
Mrs. Beece drew in her thin lips
sternly. She was thinking.
"And what does it mean about your
giving him a note for the dressmaker ?
I do not understand. You had nothing
to write about."
The girl had got her hands free and
flnnj? them before her face to deaden
the sobs. But Mrs. Beece was
resolute mother at times, and she ex
torted the confession. Alison had im
provised the note and sent Thomas
around the long way to deliver it, and
so keep him from passing by the willow
walk.
"Oh, child, child!" moaned the dis
maved woman.
'If he has indeed
fallen over the Scar it fe you who have
triven him liis death.
And it proved to he so. In taking
the two miles round between the cot
tace and the farm a high and perpen
dicular precipice, called the Scar, had
to be passed. Ihe tableland, orpla
teau on the top was wide and a perfectly
safe road, by daylight, since a traveler
could keep as far from the unpro
tected edge as he pleased, but on a dark
nierht, oar in a thick fog it was most dan
crerous. Thomas Watkyn must have
drawn near the edge unwittingly and
fallen over it. There ho lay. on the
sharp rock, when the poor father and
others went to look for him, his death
like face upturned toward the blue sky
"Speak to me, Thomas, speak to
me !" wailed Alison quite beside herself
with reniose and grief, as she knelt by
hun, wringing her hands. Oh, 1 nomas,
speak to me! I loved you all the
while."
But Thomas neither spoke nor moved
The voice that had nothing but tender
words was silent now ; the heart she
had so grieved might never beat in sor
row or joy again.
No person had seen or spoken with
him alter quitting her the previous night,
save the dressmaker, little industrious
Miss Ford. She had answered tho
knock herself, she related, and he put
the note into her hands, saying, "Miss
Beece had ' asked him to leave it in
passing. What a thick mist it is that
has come on," he remarked to her in
his plea-ant, chatty way. "Aye, it is
indeed, sir," she ans vered, and shut her
door as he walked away.
For man v weeks Alison Beece lay il
with brain fever, hovering between life
and death. Some people said it was
the shock that made her ill and took
her senses away; others thought that
she must have loved the poor young
man to distraction ; no one, save her
mother, knew it was the memory of her
last interview with him, andthe schem
ing to send him on the route that led to
his accident, that had well nigh killed
her. But the young are strong in their
tenacity of life, and she grew better by
slow degrees.
One warm April afternoon, when the
winter months had given place to
spring, Alison, leaning on the arm of
her mother, went to sit on the porch.
She was very feeble yet. It was the
first she had sat there since that mem
orable evening with her ill-fated lover.
There she remained thinking and
dreaming. They could not persuade
her to come in, and so wrapped her in
a warm shawl.
Sunset came on, and was almost as
beautiful, curious, perhaps, that it
should be so, as the one he and she had
watched together more than six months
before. The brilliant beams shone like
molten gold in the glowing west, the
blue sky around was necked with pink
and amethvst. Alison's eves were
fixed on the lovelv scene with an en
raptured gaze, her lips slightly parting
with emotion.
"Alison, what are you thinking of ?"
Of mm, mother. Of his happiness
He is living in all that glorious beauty.
I think there must have been an un
conscious prevision in his mind by
what he said that evening as we
watched it, that he should soon be
there. Oh, mother, I wish I was going
to him ! I wish I could be with him
to-morrow."'
The mother paused ; she felt inclined
to say something, but she feared the
agitation it might cause.
"Well, well, child, you are getting
better, she presently answered.
"Yes, I do get better," sighed the
girl. "I suppose it pleased God that
I should."
"Time smoothes all things, Alison.
In time yoit will be strong again and
able to fulfill life s various duties with
a zest. Trials are good oh so very
good! -for the soul. But for meeting
with them we might never learn the
way to heaven,"
Alison did not answer. Her feeble
hands were clasped in silent prayer,
her face was lifted to the glories of
the evening skv.
It was at the same sunset hour, an
evening or two later, that Alison, who
was picking up strength daily, strolled
away to the churchyard. She wanted
to look for a newly-made grave in that
corner where so many of the Watkyns
lay buried.
She could not see it ; the same grave
stones that were there before were there
now; there was no fresh one.
"Perhaps they opened the old vault
for him," thought Alison, as she sat
down on a bench just inside the gate,
for sLe was too weak to walk ba.-k
again without a rest.
Tho sun was going down to-night
without any loveliness, just as a crimson
ball, which seemed to give red light to
the atmosphere, and to light up redly
the face of a pale, tottering man who
was coming up to the gate by the help
of a stick. He halted when he reached
it. Alison turned sick and faint Avith
all manner of emotions as she gazed at
him, fright being uppermost.
"Alison!"
"Thomas!"
He held out his hand ; he came in
side; his pale, sad face wore for her its
old sweet expression.
" Oh, Thomas, I thought you were
elead," she burst out in a storm of sobs.
I came here to look for your grave., I
thought I had killetl you."
" They thought I wai dead at first.
They thought for a long time that I
should elie," he answereel, as he sat
down beside her, keeping her hand in
his. " But the skillful medical men
have raised me up, under God. I hope
in time to be strong and well again."
"Can you ever forgive me?" she
wailed, bitter, painful tears falling
down her cheeks like rain. "I shall
never forgive myself."
"No ! Then you must atone to me
instead, Alison. Be all the more loving
to mo during our future lives. We
must pass them together, my dear."
"Do you mean it still ?" she gasped.
"Oh, Thomas, how good and true you
are. If I can only bo a little bit worthy
of you."
Thev walked home slowlv. arm
arm. Neither could valk fast yet. Mrs.
Beece came to the porch to meet them.
God is full of mercy, she thought.
"I did not tell her. Thomas." she
said ; "she was so dreadfully low when
she came out of the fever. 1 meant
tell her to-nitrht "
"I have told her myself; it was best
so, answered Thomas Watkyn.
THE VILLAGE DOCTOR.
How Ills Patient Is Made to Forget
Sleknens and Find It Easy to IMe.
f Ben Wylde in Chicago News.
Piece by piece he learns every symp
tom, every little particular of his
patient's last night; and then, when
the conversation -ceases" and the wife
goes back quietly up the narrow back
stairs to make the children s little bed,
the old doctor sits and peels long curly
shavings off the yellow pine stick, softly
hums a good old Methodist hymn
and thinks what he should do next for
his sick man.
Half the forenoon is gone when the
good wife comes to the door and savs
in the same old subdued tone to which
she has habituated herself: "Doctor,
he s awake now." The old doctor slowly
lifts himself, unkinks his stiffened joints,
kicks his legs out to straighten down
his trousers, shuts his big bone-handled
knife, brushes the snavings from his
shiny clothes, and goes to the bed
room. The sick man slowlv turns his
head toward the doorway, smiles sadly,
puts out his long,. white, bony hand to
mm and whispers hoarselv : ell,
doctor ?" which is a sick man's favorite
form of asking how his doctor thinks
he is getting along. The old doctor
raises tho blue paper curtain and
slowly draws a chair close to the bed.
Oh, you re looking ever so much bet
ter to-day. We'll have you out hoeing
potatoes in a elav or two.
The old doctor knows this is false ;
knows that no human power can pro
long the man's life a month, but he is
one of those great good men who live
above the necessity of telling the truth
on all occasions. Only the puny-souled
creatures who have to keep themselves
in strait jackets lest they do something
wicked need to live within the narrow
limits of an inviolable rule alwavs to
tell the truth. 44 You're getting on nicely.
Don't you sea you've got more color in
your hands? And your eye looks
brighter than it has for a month. A
very sick man couldn't sleep as yon tlid
this morning. Why, , I've been here
two hours, and you've been sound asleep
and snoring every minute !o' the time;
ain't he, Mrs. Sanford?' The poor wife
is almost afraid the doctor exaggerates,
but there is something so who!eonie in
the old eloctor s manner and so encour
aging in his words that she quite for
gets her troubles, and becomes even
chipper m her efforts to assure her hus
band that the doctor is right.
While the little woman moves softly
about, gently dusting this and that
piece of furniture, turning the shutters
so that the sunbeams creeping toward
the bed may not climb up and get into
the eyes of the sick man, the old doctor
urges on the conversation, adroitly
turning the subject from sickness and
trouble, and even from health and pros
perity, with which the sick man might
make painful comparisons. ' Soon the
room is changed from a chamber of
death and ilespair to a panorama of
scenes pictured by the doctor in the re
lation of his recollections and experi
ences. The sick man turns his head 'to
catch every word. He is an interested
listener while the old eloctor sits there
and relates as actual personal history a
hundred ard one things that never hap
pened to anybody. Why should he
stop to ask himself whether truth is
mighty so long as he can see that false
hood is prevailing over his patient's des
pair anel causing him to forget whether
he is sick or well.
A writhing of the sick man's face and
the placing of his thin, clammy hand
upon his breast tells of a sharp pain.
Quick, the opiate 1 There, he sleeps!
Now all is well. Ah, yes, he sleeps.
He will not wake again. Death came
to him as in a pleasant dream. He
knew it not, and hence he died but
once. Kind-hearted, warm old doctor !
Dear o!d cowartl, who never fights
disease, but.surren tiers at its first ap
proach, and labors lovingly to smooth
the way to death ! Blessed old bungler,
who gives no elying man tho warning
that would turn his latest hours to bus
iness cares and save his heirs a world
of worry ment and loss ! "Who does not
love the old doctor ?
Catting Diamond With a Maw.
Cincinnati Enquirer.
"There are are three processes nec
essary to be gone through with between
the rough stone and the diamond as
you see it here," replied the jeweler.
"First, a piece of stone the required
size must be cut off. To do this we use
a circular saw. made of sheet iron and
without teeth, It is worked like a
wood-worker's saw, and two men stand
at the treadle. One man holds tho
stone to be cut tightly against
the edge of the saw, while the
other, using a small feather dippeel in
oil, applies diamond-dust to the eelge of
the saw. The saw is made of very duc
tile metal, and the particles of diamond
dust becoming firmly set in it, soon
wear through the hardest stone. Now
the piece of diamond passes to the cutting-table,
upon which is strapped a
wheel running parallel to the top of the
table. The stone is fastened bv cement
to the end of a stick six inches long.
"The lapidary takes the stick in his
right hand and holds the stone firmly
against the wheel until one facet is
ground down. Diamond elust and water
are constantly applied to the wheel.
The table and upper facets of the stone
are cut this way, and the stone is then
removed from .and readjusted to the
stick before the lapidary cuts the under
sides, callets and remaining facets. The
stone is manipulated the same in the
third or polishing process as in the cut
tine process. The wheel, however, is
composed mainly of tin, and tripoli and
rotten stone are used in the p.lishing
process."
Japanese never wear shoes in tho
house, but always take them off before
entering.
MAUD AND THE ROSES.
New York Journal. ,
Within the elaborately furnished par
lor of a palatial Fifth avenue residence,
her dainty feet encased in dainty slip
pers of violet colored silk, sat Maud
L'Acquilton, the cherished child of for
tune. Beared in the lap of luxury she
was ignorant of tho trials and sorrows
which beset the busy mart where men
battle for bread. In her hand she held
the picture of a young man who, like
herself, had been reared amid scenes of
elegant affluence.
Maud was a sweet-faced girl and was
loved by all who knew her. There was
an indescribable tenderness in her
great blue eyes, a soft, teneler, yet withal
a farm expression in the slight compres
sion of her lips,' and a - definiteness, as
it were, in the character of her face
which stamped her as a woman whose
compassionate nature was under the
control of a high order of intelligence.
As she sat before the parlor grate,
her fair skin elelicately tinged by the
genia' warmth from the burning em
bers, she was a woman of surpassing
beauty. The loosely-fitting morning
wrapper which she wore fell gracefully
over her person, revealing occasional
outlines of a . form of which Psyche
might have been proud.
Horace L'Acquilton, the moneyed
master of the house, was devotedly at
tached to his only child, and left noth
ing undone which he had reason to be
lieve would contribute to the happiness
of her voung and innocent life. Though
already a millionnaire he longed for an
opportunity to tlouble his vast wealth,
his purpose being to present to his
daughter, upon her arrival at the age
of maturity, a fortune which would
make her the wealthiest laely in the
land. Mauel was unconscious of her
father's perilous ambition. She only
knew that her every want was supplied,
even anticipatetl, anel she was quite as
happy as it is possible for mortal to be.
"I wonder," she mused, the while
gazing intently upon the picture,
"whether he really loves me? Yet why
should I be so exacting when I scarce
know my own heart ? He is young, hand
some
A gentle tread upon the velvet carpet
ing attracteel the quick ear of the sen
sitive girl.
"Boderick!" she exclaimed. "Who
gave you permission to enter here?"
Maud's beautiful face flushed crimson
as she rose hastily from the sumptuous
ottoman and turned toward the mtru
der.
lhe hgure before her was that of a
dashing man of the world. He was tall,
fine looking and elegantly attireel. H's
mustache was long and silken, and his
eyes, though bearing the evidence of
dissipation, were still lustrously black.
There was an expression of sadness in
his face which deepened when he caught
sight of the picture m Maud s hand.
"Had 1 known so much," said Boeler-
lck l- royart, Jus voice husky witu emo
mt. ..i.i . 1 i. "
"This is folly, Boderick!" exclaimed
Maud, biting her lips in nervous vexa
tionl lteally, you misjudge me you
cannot umlerstand, I "
And tossing the picture upon an ivory
mounted centre-table, she threw herself
back into the ottoman, antl buried her
face in her hands.
For a moment Boderick Froyart stood
gazing fixedly upon the form of the
woman whom he madly loved. The
rose in his fingers dropped to the floor,
and lay there unheedetl.
"And this is why you have ceased to
care for me !" he said finally.
A deep change had taken place in the
man. lie seemed to have aged a score
of years in the brief interval during
which he had surrendered himself to
the conflicting emotions of his heart.
"It is for this humiliation that I have
given you the truest and best love of a
man, and would have died rather than
cause you one moment's anguish."
"Boderick," gasped the unhappy
girl, "you misjudge me !"
As she said this she lifted up her
curl-laden head and gazeel at him be
seechingly through her falling tears.
"One week ago," continued the man,
unmindful of the interruption, and
seemingly unconscious of the fact that
his every word sank like a poisoned ar
row into the soul of the listener; "one
week ago to-day you heard the words
of burning love which I poured into
your listening ear. You returned them
word for word, anel with your arms
around my neck anel your soft breath
upon my brow you promised, on the
honor of your womanhood, to be my
wife. As you are now I was
then the spoiled child -of lux
ury. What , has happened since
to so change ' .your feeling towards
me? Listen, Maude, and I will tell you
Tuesday last my father failed because
he foolishly sought to uphold the credit
of the haughty house of Vanderbert,
and I suddenly find myself a penniless
wanderer, driven to tho extremities of
the adventurer in the effort to uphold
my standing at the clubs. You have
been informed of this, and your heart
your fickle heart is at once wrested
from my grasp and given over to an
other. Yet I knew our social standing
had undergone a terrible change, and I
had come here to surrender my rights,
to return your fond letters when I am
suddenly awakened to the fact that you J
never loveel mo! Or, Maud! Alaudl
You have elosfroyed me!"
"Boderick !" cried the girl, springing
to her feet and rushing towards hia
retreating figure with outstretched
arms. " You wrong me cruelly when
you say I do not love you. The heart
that was yours on Monday last beats as
truly and faithfully for you to-day r
" Then fly with me!" cried the man,
as he encircled her slender waist with
his arm and half dragged her in his
frantic joy towards the door.
- Ha!" he exclaimed, suddenly relax
ing his hold and gazing at her with
fixed features and distended eyes. "You
shrink from me !" . '
"Do not blame me, ! Roderick," she
said, in a low voice, 'ior I am only a
poor, weak child. In your present con
dition you couhl not support a w.ife.
Indeed, you are unable to support your-
sen. xjo not be angry wnu me, ior x
speak for your good as one, in fact,
who loves you more dearly than" life
itself. If the cruel mandate of society
prohibits me from becoming your wife
it cannot take from me the right! to love
you through life as a sister. Leave me,
I beg of you, and never come here
again. The honor of ray father's house
commands us to part as strangers.
There was an imperial grandeur in
the girl's delivery that staggered Bod
erick Froyart, accomplished worldling
though he was. His eves fell to the
ground, and with bowed head and ach
ing heart he dragged his heavy feet into
x nth avenue
As the door closed behind him Maud
L'Acquilton's courage forsook her. She
reeled back into the room and clutched
the fallen rose as she fell prostrate on
the floor. I
''Unhappy child," groaned her father,
as he pushed aside the tapestried parti
tion which marked the division of his
spacious parlors, and rushed to 'his"
daughter's side, " what wretch has dared
to tell her that I am a ruined man?"
As Boderick Froyart descended the
steps of the L'Acquilton mansion Oscar
Bristol, the weak-eyed, knock-kneed
son of a haughty millionaire, began the
ascent. There was a triumphant gleam
in the eyes of the latter, for he 'read in
Roderick's face tho story of a broken
heart. Boderick glared savagely at his
rival, and clinched his fists in the agony
of jealous despair. Avith a mighty ef
fort, however, he mastered his emotion
and passed on. An hour later I a man
whom he had esteemed as an oldl friend
reiuseu mm tne loan oi a dollar.
"They say it is disgraceful," he said
to himself, "but I will do it. Aye, even
tins very day 1 will go to work and en
deavor to win back the fortune and
honor of my family
One week later Boderick froyart
was a salesman in a Bowery hat store
He had made rapid strides in the affec
tion anel confidence of his employer,
and hael begun already to look forward
to the hour of his appointment! as
cashier. At last his proud ambition
was crowned with success and the funds
of his employer were in i.is keeping.
In safer keeping the honest hatter could
not have intrusted his hard-earned
wealth. j j
If nobility is lacking in any of
America's upper midelle classes,1
thought Boderick Frovart, "it shall
never suffer by act of mine."
As he wandered to his boarding house
tnat night his attention was attracted
to a young and beautiful girl who stood
at the corner of lhim avenue and
Ninth street, offering bouquet to the
passers-by. !
"Roses," he thought, "rosea that once
I showered upon Maud.
Something in the manners of the
girl's face appealed to him. He topped
to buy a rose. Again the
dropped from his fingers.
flower
"Maud!" he exclcimed. "Canrthis
be you?"
"It is, Roelerick," replied
le poor
gin, nursling into tears, "rather is
elependent entirely upon me jfor hi
daily breael. He hopes, however, to re
trieve his fortune as soon as he recovers
from rheumatic fever." j
"Has he rheumatic fever?" asked
Roelerick, his voiee showing the emo
tion which rackeel his frame. j
"Yes, Roelerick," replied the girl.
The old love look was in her eyes. She
stoopeVl and picked up her rose. ; j
An hour later the wretched flower
girl was the wife of Roderick Froyart,
and the happy pair, having previously
provideel for the necessaries of Dr.
L'Acquilton, took the first train for
Chicago. The next day the Bowery
hatter failed. j
Two months' later, Roderick Froyart,
who with his young wife were hiding
in Aelrian, Michigan, received the fol
lowing elispatch from his father-in-law.
"Come at once. Have settled with : the
hatter, and am rich as ever. j
II. Zkphoms L'Acquilton."
And now Roderick and Maud j reside
together in the old Fifth avenue man
sion, and laugh merrily as they , think
of how Oscar Bristol strangled himself
by tight lacing. ; j
Mr. L'Acquilton lives with his child
ren, and sings nursery songs to a new
little Maud, who prattles "papa" when
ever she sees Roderick Froyart. And
little Mauel when she plays with the
roses that meet her everywhere never
dreams of tue romance
they typify;
in
that happy home.'
Dead Jlen'w Hhoea.
Washington Republican. j !
"Dead men's shoes ? Yes, sir, several
dealers make a spocialty of them, and
sell largo numbers." The speaker was
the proprietor of one of tho innumer
able second-hand stores which j line D
street from Eighth to Tenth streets.
and whose presence has christened that
thoroughfare the Chatham street" of
Washington.
"How elo you get them?"
" Oh, that s easy enough," he replied.
with a strong German accent, iacoom-
panied by an odor of onions. "We have
agents, xney go about town, and
whenever they see crape on the door
they put down the number and street
in their memorandum book, i Then.
after waiting a reasonable time, until
the burial is over, the agent calls again
and makes an offer for the dead man's
shoes, which is generally accepted.
Sometimes the agents buy clothing in
the same way, but boots and shoes can
always bo bought. If they are out of
repair we mend them, I guess jat least
5,000 pairs aro sold on D street alone
every week at an average price of: $1
per pair, uolored men are the best
customers." At this point the dealer in
pedal coverings of elefunct citizens was
called inside by tho minor clerk, who
was trying to force tho sale of a large
ulster on a very thin man, with the
frequent remark that it "fit him like
the paper on the wall."
Mpoiled It All.
Exchange. 1
A farmer went to hear the great
Wesley preach upon the subject j of
money. "Get all you can," said jWesIey.
The farmer was delighteil. "Save jail
you can. l he farmer was still more
delighted, and thought Wesley the
most practical preacher he had ever
listeneel to. "Give all you can." j At
this the farmer exclaimed: " Pshaw 1
He has gone and spoilt it all !" j j
! i
Travelers in Africa assert that the
most certain euro for malarial fever is
strong coffee.
A TRAGEDY IN PAST PARTICIPLES.
Sally Saltre she was a teacher and taught,
And her friend Charley Church was a
preacher who praught,
Though his friends all called bim a screecher
who scraugbt.
His heart, when he saw her, kept sinking and
sunk,
And hia eye, meeting hers, kept winking and
wunk;
While she, in turn, fell to thinking and
thunk; ,
And hastened to woo her, and sweetly he
wooed,
For his love grew until to a mountain it
grewed,
And what he was longing to do, then he
dooed.
In secret he wanted to speak, and he spoke,
To seek with his hps what his heart long had
soke;
So he managed to let the truth leak and it
loke. " "
He asked her to ride to church, and they
rode;
They so sweetly did glide that they both
thought they glode,
And they came to the place to be tied and
were toed.
And homeward, he said, let us drive, and
they drove;
And as soon as they wished to arrive they ar-
rove.
For whatever he couldn't contrive she con
trove. The kiss he was dying to steal then he stole;
At the feet where he wanted to kneel there
he knole,
And he said, "I feel better than ever I fole."
So they to each other kept clinging and clung,
While Time on his circuit was winging
and wung.
And this was the thing he was bringing and
brung.
The man Sally wanted to catch and had
caught
That she wanted from others to snatch and
had s naught
Was the one she now liked to scratch and had
scraught.
And Charley's warm love began freezing and
froze,
While he took to teasing and cruelly tose
The girl he had wished to be squeezing and
squoze.
"Wretch!" he cried, when she threatened to
leave him and left,
"How could you deceive me as you have dee-eft
f
And she answered: "I promised to cleave and
I've cleft!"
UNCLE ABE'S LECTURE.
A Verbatim .Report of the Address
Delivered In an Alabama Church.
Montgomery Letter in Philadelphia Times.
Here follows a verbatim report of a lecture
delivered by a "character" in a town in the
interior of this state:
"Frens and bred ren, ladies and gemmen: I
cuius afore you to-night to pint out de way of
de truf . Sum folks is called to preach and
glorify de Lord and sum is called to lecture
and glorify de culled nation and I is dat man.
We am de chosen people of de Lord and I
will tell you fore why and show you bow dat
thing stands. Wall, now you pintedly knows
as how de good book dun say 'dem de Lord
lu v He chasteneth.' Now ain't dat proff , case
ain't He dun chastened us and ain't we dun
sarved our time under de white folks? Den
again de good book says Mtm He luvs He will
deliver and fore de Lord ain't Ho done got
us free glory, hallelujah!"
Here the darkey audience became much ex
cited and cries "Dat's trhflf, brudder" "Brcss
de Lord," etc., etc., were hoard. The old
man mopped on his face with his gaudy
colored bandanna and continued:
"Yes, my bred ren and sisters, you is dun
sot free, and I is gwine now for to show you
as how you must duct and have yourae'fs so
dat you will be zamples to the
whole worL In de fust place, I says,
carry a high head and stiflf neck, case you
is de chosen people, and let de whito folks
know as how you is as good as dey if your
skin is sorter dark and your , hair kniky.
Right here I brings in annuder proof and
dat's de way a lecture man makes his pint.
Ain't it do aim of de white women nowadays
fur to make dar har kink, and case it don't
kink natural don't dey have fur to screw it
up in papers and har-pins and iron it, too? I
tell you, my frens, de time ain't fur oS when
I spects to see our chiluns cut all de shine
offen de white nation, and I hopes as how
you will member dat the bible says as how
you mus turn good for eviL'
Injceraoll on Sncces.
Inter Ocean Interview.
Drifting then, as the conversation did from j
point to point of interest, like a freighted
bark along a rugged coast, Mr. lugersoll
said:
"Fame, sir, is a fleeting thing. , Men drop
out of sight and are forever forgotten. I do
not see why these men want to be president."
"Did you ever have any such aspirations F
"When I was a young man I had ambi
tions. I have found that the cares
which come to a man in a place like that of
president of the United States are enormous.
After Garfield was nominated I said to him
one clay, 'irarneki, you are going to be
elected president I hope, but by the time you
have been president a month you 11
wish you were running, an ice-house
in hades.' Well, I saw him after ho
had been president a little while, and I said,
Well, Garfield, how does it gof And he an
swered, 'I don't know but I'd prefer the ice
house business.' I tell you the hardest thing
a young man has to endure in this world is
success. Success to a young man, coming to
bim when he is young, is one of tho hardest
things he can have to stand and keep bis
poise. Fame? Why, think how few, how
very few of the names of the great, grand
men of Rome havo been wafted along down
to us across tho centuries. And the men
themselves, where is their fame? Who knows
them? Who thinks of them? The men of
this world, how fast they go, how little they
leave behind them. And I tell you, when a
man grows to be a great man, then does he
begin to feel how little ho is. The greater he
is, the less he knows.
lleduclns the Armies.
Demorest's Monthly.
The kings of Europe have recently been
conferring together. The emperors of Aus
Etria and Germany have met, and
the king of Spain has paid a visit
to several- of "his brother rulers.
The result is said to be an alliance between a
number of the leading powers to bring about
a reduction of the several armies. In times of
profound peace Europe represents a vast
camp; nearly all the able-bodied men are
drafted into the armies, and tho financial
burdens of the several nations have, in conse
quence, become intolerable. It is believed
that a congress of the several nations will be
held to see if something cannot bo done to re
trench the military establishments, and save
some of the money now wasted on costly and
useless armaments.
aiexleo'a Kail road.
Inter Ocean.
American companies have built over $30,-
000,000 worth of railroads in Mexico, and
completed over 1,600 miles of track. The
English lines consist of 353 miler, and th
Mexican roads f 35 miles.
PICTURES OF THE SOUTH.
Scene la Tallahaanee Jaat After tktf
Close of the Rebellion
Florida Letter in New York Bun.
"When I first came south many years
ago the negroes were a constant source
of amusement to me. Their ways were
so different from anything I had ever
seen, their actions so childlike, and
their ideas of freedom so extraordinary,
that to me it was better than a circus
to observe them. Freedom made a
striking revolution in them socially.
They tried to drop at once all the
catchwords of former familiarity, and
adopted the most extravagant and elab .
orate forms of courtesy. It was "lady''
and "gentleman," and "Mr." and
"Mrs." among themselves. All the
ceremot-tearaner. genuflexions in use
among the former slaveholding aristoc
racy were homesteaded as their own.
I was riding through the streets of
Tallahassee one morning with Dr. 8.
B. Conover, then state treasurer and
owner of a fine plantation, when an in
cident occurred that has never left my
memory. It had been reported that
the doctor was looking for hands to
work on his plantation. When we got
opposite the postofnee, where a crowd
was waiting for the mail, we were
heiled by an old colored "auntie."
"Oh, Dr. Conover! Oh, Dr. Conover 1"
she shouted, "stop here a minute,
please, sir!"
At her side was a woe-begone-looking
negro in complete raggedness. Any
respectable western cornfield scarecrow
would have refused to exchange gar
ments with him without a heavy bonus.
The old auntie had him by the arm. As
we drew up she said : " Dr. Conover, I
have done heerd you wanted to git some
gemman to work on your place, an' I
done sent for dis yer gemman to come
to town, so8 you could hire him."
The "gemman" was all tho while
looking sheepish, anel grinning to an
alarming extent. After a little conver
sation the contract was made, and he
went out to the -plantation to pick the
doctor's cotton.
The negroes, male and female, were
passionately fond of fine clothes, and
finery of every elescripti on. They
eagerly invested all the money they
could earn in articles of personal adorn
ment. I was told by one of the most
fashionable milliners in the place that
the finest and costliest bonnets and hats
were purchaseel . by the negro women.
"White ladies were satisfied to dress
more in consonance with the reduced
tsato of their finances, but tho recently
liberated colored lady must have gor
geous head gear, even if the rest of her
person was covered with dirty and
ragged calico. A lot of colored ladies on
some street corner discussing questions
of domestic economy or religious
faith would exhibit a dazzling array of
ribbons, laces, feathers, and bright col
ors. With them freedom meant to stt?p
at once from the sphere of the cotton
field to the drossing-room cf the petted
dar bin gs of society and fashion. A foot
apparently eighteen inches long would
often peep coyly out from beneath a
flashing blue silk dress. With per
fumery, too, they were fascinated.
Many a dusky belle, to enhance the
value of her personal charms, would in
vest a hard-earned dollar in cologne,
and empty the contents of the bottle on
her head and garments.
One beautiful Sunday morning in the
early spring, as I was riding out on a
pleasant country road, I met a coloreel
Adonis on his way to church. lie looked
like a piece of animated bric-a-brac. lie
wore a dress suit of black, palmed off
on him by the Hebrew children as
broadcloth. His neck was encircled
with a Cal Wagner collar and a flaming
red scarf. A high silk hat crowned his
noble brow. But his feet were bare.
His wealth had become exhausted by
the time ho got to his feet. He did not
seem to labor under the least embar
rassment, however, and stalked along
the dusty road in barcfootedness, a true
child, of freedom.
The Smallest Nan In IlUh Mtatlon
Chicago Tribune
William M. Evarts looks thinner and
more nervous thanp ever. Since
Alexander Stephens' death he is the -smallest
man in high station. He makes
$100,000 a year at his law practice, and
takes a good many holidays. He has
been the father of thirteen children,
and eleven of them are living. The
two smartest are the twins, Sherman
and Prescott, who graduated two years
asro at Harvard anel Yale respectively.
Sherman is studying law with his
father and Prescott is working hard to '
become an Episcopalian clergyman.
And yet Sherman is the more demure,"
and Prescott was a great athlete in
college. Two or three of the girls are
married, but the home life of Evarts'
family is still as delightful as ever.
White Houne Furniture.
Exchange.
After noting the proposal to erect a
new home for the president of the
United States, and to surrender the
, executive mansion to public business, a
correspondent says: "Many people
wonder why it costs ao much to keep
the executive mansion in good order.
Col. Ilockwell says the wear and tear
of the furniture . exceeds that of any
hotel in the country. The people, to
the average of 500 a day, insist upon
seeing the WJiito House. They must
tread upon the carpets and rest them
selves in tho tempting chairs. They
must examine with their eyes and
fingers, all the upholstery and tlrapery.
When it is remembered that this is re
peated every day in the year, it will
cease to be a matter of wonder that
the wear is so rapid."
Bound in Unman Hide.
Chicago Newt
One of the leading book-binding firms
in this city, says The Indianapolis
Times, has been using tanned human
skin for a long time in their Ilussia
leather and Morocco bindings. Many
of the beautiful., and colored Itnssia
leather pocket books and ladies' sachels
are made of tanned negro skins. Gerry
,Wilstacb, who travels for the only Cin
cinnati house that deals in this class of
goods, says that their use is not quite
general tho leading demand being for
mulatto and octoroon skins, though the
fall-blooded negro ranks higher in the
market than the white.