The Douglas independent., August 30, 1884, Image 1

THE niDEPHlIDETT
HAS THE "
7r
PIC"!
""31
FINEST JOB OFFICE
IN DOUGLAS COUNTY.
CARDS, BILL HEADS, LEGAL BLANKS,
One Year -Six
Months -Three
Months
$2 SO
1 60
1 00
And other Printing, inuludin . ,
: Largs aal Eeayj Pesters asi SLou M-Eills,
Neatly and expeditiously executed
AT PORTLAND P.BIOE.S.
-These are tha terms of the paying In adranoe. The
Isdepeudkkt offex fine Inducements to advertisers.
Term reasonable.
VOL. IX.
ROSEBTJRG, OREGON, SATURDAY, AUGUST 30, 1884.
NO. 21.
THE HTDEPEITDEITT
is issued
SATURDAY MORNINGS.
BY TDK
Douglas County Publishing Company.
C 1 SiB:-" ff"
i,u u u
MO .
c.a i la .-it iwfl
J. JASKULEK,
PRACTICAL
waicimiser, jeweier ana utucian
ALL 70UX WASEAHTED.
Dealer l-i patches. Clocks, Jewelry,
Spectacles and Eyeglasses.
, 4 - jn i nu. u or :
Cigasa, Tobacco & Fancy Goods.
Tlu only reliable Optomer in town for the proper adjust
ment of Spectacles ; always oo hand.
Depot of tha Genuine Br&rili&n Pebble Speo
tacle iiid Eyeglasses.
Office First Door South of Postoihce,
B08EBVB6. OKEttOHT.
LAITGEITBERG'S
Boot and Shoe Store
ItOSKBLKG, ORF.GOX,
On Jscksou Street, Opposite the Post Office,
Keeps on hand the largest and best assortment of
Eastern and Ban Franetseo Boots and
hoes. Gaiters, Slippers,
And everything in the Boot and Shoe line, and
SELLS CHEAP FOR CASH.
Boots and Shoes Made to Order, and
Perfect Fit Guaranteed.
I use the Best of Leather-and Warran all
my work.
Repairing Neatly Done, on Short Notice.
I keep always on hand
TOYS AND NOTIONS.
Musical Instruments and Violin Strings
a specialty.
LOUIS L, AXGEXBERU.
DR. M. W. DAVIS,
68 DENTIST,
BOSEBUBG, OREGON,
Office On Jackson Street, Up Stairs,
Over S. Marks & Co. s Aew btore.
IiIAHONEY'S SALOON,
Nearest the Bail road Depot, Oakland.
JAS. MAI1QXEY, ... Proprietor
The Finest Wines. Liquors and Clears in
Douglas County, and
THE BEST BILLIARD TABLE IN THE STATE,
KEPT IN PROPER REPAIR.
Parties traveling: on the railroad will find this place
very handy to visit during the stopping of the
ie stopping oi tne wain
at
the Oakland Itepot.
Giro me a call.
JAS. MAHONEY.
JOHN ERASER,
Home Hade Furniture,
WILBUR, OREGON.
UPHOLSTERY, SPRING MATTRESSES, ETC,
Constantly on hand.
FURNITURE.
I have the Best
STOCK OF FURNITURE
South of Portland.
And all of my own manufacture.
5fo Two Prices to Customers.
Resident of Douglas County are requested to give me a
call before purchasing eisewnere.
ALL WOBK WARRANTED.
DEPOT HOTEL,
Oakland, Oregon. .
RICHARD THOMAS, Proprietor.
This Hotel has been established for a num
ber of years, and has become very pop
ular with the traveling public.
FIRST-CLASS SLEEPING ACCOMMODATIONS
ANDTM
Table (applied with the Best the Market affords
Hotel at the Depot of the Railroad.
H. C. STANTON,
DEALER IX
Staple Dry Goods,
Keep constantly on band a general assortment of
Extra Fine Groceries
WOOD, WILLOW AND GLASSWARE,'
ALSO
CROCKERY AND CORDAGE,
A full stock of
SCHOOL BOOKS,
Such as required by the Public County Schools.
All kinds of Stationery. Toys and
Fancy Articles,
TO SUIT BOTH TOOKO AND OLD.
F '
' BuyB and Sells Legal Tenders, furnishes
Cheeks on Portland, and procures
Drafts on San Francisco.
SEEDS I
SEED
f
ILL KINDS OF THE BEST QUALITY.
ALL ORDERS
Promptly attended to and goods shipped
with care.
Address,
HACHEXY A BEXO,
Portland. Oregon.
Where ISatnro Humps Her Back.
Cor. Denver News.
While on earth I never expect a view
more erlorious than on Gray's Peak,
Col. No pen can describe it, and this
is merely the stub of a 5-cent pencil. If
in some sphere of the future there is a
panorama more arrand in its roughness,
more magnificent in its extent and less
adapted to general transportation, no
wonder that the inhabitants have wings.
How seldom we realize the massiveness
of nature when she really humps her
"OUT TO OLD AUNT MARY'S."
r James "VVhitcomb Riley. 1
Wasn't it pleasant. Oh. brother mine.
In those old days of the lost sunshine
Of youth when the Saturday's chores were
throuzb.
And the ''Sunday's wood" in the kitchen, too,
And we went visiting, "I and you.
Uutj to old Aunt Alary sr
It all comes back so clear to-day!
Though I am las bald as you are gray
Out by the barn lot and down the lane
We patter along in tne oust again,
As light as the tips of the drops of the rain,
Uut to old Aunt Mary s.
We cross tha pasture and through the wood
Where the old grey snag oi the poplar stood,
Where the hammering red-Leads hopped
away.
And the buzzard raised in the open sky
And lolled and circled aa we went by
Uut to old Aunt Mary s.
And then in the dust of the road again;
And the teams we met and the countrymen;
And the long highway with the sunshine
suread ; .
As thick as butter on country bread.
And our cares behind and our hearts ahead.
. Out to old Aunt Marys.
I see her now in the open door
Where the little gourds grew up the sides and
o'er
The clapboard roof. And her face oh, mt !
Wasn t it good tor a boy to see f
And wasnx it good for a boy to be
Uut to old Aunt .Diary's. ,
And oh, my brother, so far awayj .
This is to tell you she waits to-day
To welcome us. Aunt Mary fell
Asleep this morning, whistiering, "Tell
The boys to come!" And all is well
Uut to old Aunt Jilary's.
GROWTH OF THE GRAVER.
Income of a First-Class ICnirraver
Work on Magazines.
Boston Herald.
A generation ago the engraver used to
be considered of comparative unimpor
tance, and he was remunerated accord
ingly. Within fifteen or twenty years,
however, he has come to the front, and
now he divides both glory and profit
with the artist on a more equitable
scale.
The magazines, you know, apparently
consider it as mucn of an advertisement
to mention the engraver's name as that
of the designer. The former have thus
become much more independent, and a
great many of them, if they don't like a
drawing, won't have anything to do
with it.
A proportion of the leading engravers
are fairly well off. I know a number of
them who may be worth from $50,000 to
$75,000. Yet there is not enough money
in the business to make a man rich, as
we reckon riches nowadays.
Tho income of a first-class engraver
ranges, perhaps, from $2,500 to $G,000
or $7,000, the average being nearer to the
first mentioned figures, while those who
get the latter can be .'counted upon your
fingers. Jn an establishment like Har
rier's, the engraver who works bv the
week receives probably from $:10 to $50.
The amount paid per piece for work, of
course, varies very much, accoruiug to
the size of the drawing and the nature
of the subject. Speaking in a general
wav, the expense of engraving a draw
ing that costs $20 would range from $50
to $100. In, the "Lady of the Lake"
there are two sketchos, for which Frost
was paid $20 each, that brought $120
apiece to the engraver. It costs from
$100 to $250 to engrave Gibson's work.
The illustrated magazines, as I have
intimated, were a potent agent m put
ting up the prices of engraving by in
creasing the demand for good work.
should judge that the monthly art bill of
The Century and llarper s ranges trom
$3,000 to $4,000, and perhaps more in
some instances.
Burying an Executioner's Sword.
Exchange.
A Paris contemporary gives, from ad
vance sheets of the memoirs about to see
the lisht of Henry Heine, an account of
a curious episode in the life of Sefchen,
the friend of Heine's child, the beautiful
daughter of a public executioner. One
nierht a number of elderly strangers as
sembled at her father's house, and ranged
themselves round a stone table in a half
circle. They remained long seated by
torchlight, whispering together. Ihen
each in turn emptied a large goblet of
wine, and ;all shook hands with
effusion. Then her grandfather, also
an executioner, recited something
which Sefchen, in her hiding-
place, could not catch; while tears
rolled down his cheeks, and the other
executioners began to show like emotion
Then all quitted their seats, doffing the
red mantles they had worn, and walked
two and two to tho foot of a tree, where
one, taking up a spade, dug a deep
trench. Then Sefchen's grandfather,
who alone had not dolled his mantle,
approached, and drew from his folds a
long white packet. This he carefully
placed in the trench, which he hastily
covered with earth.
Five years later Sefchen learned that
the nacket thus ceremoniously buried
was the sword with which her grand
father had cut off the heads of 100 con
demned. By ancient custom, when this
number had "been reached the instrument
was regarded as having a sort of sacred
ness and as a thing to be put wholly
apart, i
The Susrar Beet.
Atlanta Constitution.
Suear is declining the world over, on
account of the immense beet root yield
The yield of beet culture in 1883-84 is
estimated as follows: Germany, 940,
000 tons; j Austria-Hungary, 455,
000 tens; I France, ' 4(55,000, tons;
Russia, 310,000 tons; Belgium, 105,000
tons, and Holland, 40,000 tons mak
ing a total of; 2, 3 15, 000 ton3 as against
2,047,000 tons the year before.
House Plants.
j Exchange.
A method of growing house-plants
without soil is claimed by Captain Hal
ford Thompson, a similar plan having
beeu previously suggested by a French
man named Dumesnil. The plants are
reared in a prepared or "fertilized" moss,
and are said to grow even more luxuri
antly than in soil. Specimen baskets of
plants cultivated in this way have been
exhibited in London.
Cincinnati; Saturday Night: He had
just hinted that he could not spare the
time to take her to a picnic. "Oh, I
see," she responded cruelly, "time Is
money." j ' .
Marie Eschenbach: A good joke
should seem unintentional.
THE INUNDATION.
. Belgravia.
The floods were out at Wendelthorpe.
Boats were moving hither and thither in
lower-lying streets, and out in the open coun
try field after field was changed to a lake.
From amid the waters rose a solitary farm
house, black against a darkening sky.- The
surging flow heaved and tossed and struck
heavily upon it. Here was no languidly
spreading expanse, but the hurry of the
swollen river rushing impatiently forward
and rising in its impatience higher and ever
higher. At an upper window six persons
were gathered, watching the motions of a
light that came and went slowly, and seemed
to be drawing nearer by degrees. The group
was made up of the farmer, his wife, three
children, and a young man who was the
eldest daughter's lover. The light was mani
festly approaching, the dark shape of a boat
become distinct, they heard the dip and
splash of the oars; at hut the boat paused in
the lee of the house, and their rescue was
v . 1 1 SI
secure, it could De seen now, in ine ugnc oi
the lantern, that there were several persons
a the boat and that one of them was a wo
man.
A voice called upward to those within:
"How many are you"
And a voice called downward in reply:
"Six."
To that answer followed a moment of
silence.
Then, amid the sound of the water, came
up the words, "We have only room for four.
"Shall you be able to come back for the
others r askei the farmer.
Again followed a pause, brief, but sufficient
to foreshadow the coming negative.
No, hardly, it was getting too dark and
too dangerous.
Within were quick questionings and de
nials, a bait heard debate, caugnt and tost
again between the ominous beating of the
rising floods. By daybreak the housetop
would scarcely be left above water, even if
the walls should be strong enough to hold out
so long.
"Jack and I will stay," said the farmer at
last. ,
"If Jack stays, so will I," answered the
clear voice of his daughter.
Then a man n se in the boat and said:
"There is no woman who would say that for
me, so let me stiy."
The others in the boat looked at him as he
stood leaning one hand against the wall He
was a stranger who had reached Wendel-
thorpe only that afternoon, and had volun
teered his services at the starting oi the
boat.
The woman sitting in the stern moved a
little and paid: "I will stay, too," and all eyes
turned back to her. Her they knew. She
was the new mistress of the village school, a
grave young woman, and reported eccentric.
There was no remonstrance from the boat,
only a slow, ruminating surprise; from above,
indeed, came protests, but faint and quick!
overruled.
A window was opened in a lower story; the
two entered upon a landing that was already
flooded and went quickly upward. Warm,
broken thanks met them and eager promises
of return in the first hours of dawn. Then,
from the upper window, the two watched the
embarkation of the six, heard their shouts of
thanks and cf farewell, then the dip of the
oars, and felt at their hearts a sudden blank.
They stood side by side, watching the waver
ing progress of the departure and the waver
ing reflection of the shaken light At last,
when the boat was far away and no dim echo
reached them of its sounds, thev turned to
wards each other and toward the inner room.
The room had, in the interval, grown nearly
dark, and as they turned this way they heard
the flap of the water like a step, on the stair-
ca:e.
"Have you any hope of their coming back
in timer asked the woman.
Her companion answered, "No;" and she
saw through the darkness that he shook his
head.
"Nor have I," said she.
They stood aimlessly looking into the fast
darkening room. They had no occupation
but to await the coming up of the water,
and they were strangers who had never
so much as beheld each other's face
by full daylight. The wind and the
water went sweeping by outside, and in the
house were ghostly sounds of doors and win
dows stealthily tried and shaken.
"Had we not better go up to the attic while
we can?" asked the man by and by.
She assented, and they went inward to
the dark core of the house. The inky soli
tude below was full of creakiugs aud rust
lings, above shone a square of 3-ellow light,
revealing a steep ladder. A lighted lantern
had been left for them in the attic, together
with food and warm wrappings
"I will fetch the lantern," 6aidhe, and
swung himself quickly upward.
She stood below, holding fast to the side of
the ladder. His quick step sounded above
her head; the light shifted and bright
ened; she saw his face in a quick illumina
tion; then the light whirled toward
and beyond her, down, down into the
darkness and flashed upon the stairs. Her
breath stood still ; sha had a sickening feeling
of being left alone. Assurance of her com
panion's safety reached her, however, in the
form of an imprecation, checked, indeed,
but hearty, utteied about two feet above
her.
"The handle of the lantern was loose," said
he, as he came to her level. "I'll go down
and fetch it up."
"No, don't! It's too dark. Please don't!
Let us go up."
She had found his arm in the darkness and
held him back. In the darkness, which was
much the blacker for that brief interposition
of light, they made their way into the
attic, and crossing it carefully, afraid of
the low roof, afraid of unseen stumbling
blocks, afraid of returning upon the
yawning aperture, made their way to the
gray square of the window. Here they found
a large box, upon which they sat down.
They spoke but little; there were so. few
things left worth utterance in such an hour
as this. By and by, as their eyes grew ac
customed to the dimness, they discerned the
general character of their surroundings.
There was a table near them with food;
there were boxes and bundles and a couple
of old pictures, brought up hither apparently
when the tide began to rise. In the middle
lay the black square through which they had
made entrance; at the far end a rough heap
of straw was dimly distinguished, and from
this came restless gnawings, scrapings and
rustlings, causing the woman to sbrinS and
shudder.
"I suppose they are rats, 6he said
when the sounds grew louder.
once,
"I suppose so; do you mind very much?"
"No, if we could only see them."
Again for awhile they were silent, hearing
the little sounds within and the ever increas
ing sounds without.
At last the man stood up, and, passing his
hand acrow his face, said : "Oh, this is
very co!dlooded! They used to torture
witfikM o, fixed to a stake, when the tide
was ceavlcf xtp."
He moved to and fro impatiently, and btood
still by tbe Ublo.
"Could you not eat somethingl"
"No, than- a."
Ha broke Uimmlf a piece of bread, and re
turning to tbe window, ate a few mouthfuls.
He pushed open the lattice and leaned out
The water was rising rapidly, and was
already washing on the window of the room
below. He turned back toward her a face
of dismay; hers as she sat within the room
as not clearly visible, but her attitude was
calm and undisturbed. He sighed and came
back quietly to sit beside her. But his
quietness was of short duration. He asked,
after a few minutes, 'W ould you not like to
go out upon the roof I "We shall have to do
it sooner or later, and I don't think we should
feel quite so much imprisoned."
"Oh yes, let us go. Is there a trap doorr
"I don't think there ia I looked just now.
But I can get up through the window the
roof is close above and then I can help you."
He set his foot on the window sill, and
thrust his bead and shoulders through the
narrow opening.
"Oh, yes, it is quite eaiy. .But how it
blowsl We had better have soma of those
shawls." I
She brought them and handed them out,
watched him draw himself up, and then
mounted in her turn from box to window
ledge, and, reaching her.hanis upward, found
herself lifted safely to the summit
The surge of wind and water was tarriflc;
her hat. was blown away at once and she was
blinded by her hair. When she had freed
her face and drawn up her shawl over her
head she was able to perceive that the roof
was formed of two long parallel gables, and
that between them, at each end, a stack of
chimneys rose from a solid platform. They
went forward to the more sheltered group
and sat down on the block of brickwork at
the base. They had before them
the wide, desolate expanse of waters;
below them torrents ran thundering
between dwelling and out-houses, and
in the pauses of tbe cannonade that beat the
walls and of the rushing and rending sounds
within, they heard a southern wind drifting
with sighs between the chimneys. There was
no token of life, no light, no sound of hope.
Tet they felt a sense of relief and freedom in
being here, where they could see and know
what was befalling.
"Oh, that is better 1" said she, and lifted up
her face to breathe the fresher air.
"One would saj-," said he, watching the
dark cameo of her face, as it detached itself
from the straight Hue of masonry, "that you j
had a kind of enjoyment of all this."
"In a sense I have. There is so much space
and power. And there is the feeling of hav
ing for once put action and responsibility out
of one's hands. There is nothing now which
it can possibly be one's duty to do."
"You don't feel any fear of death, then?"
"I fear it physically, of course the actual
drowning and choking -ah, don't let us talk
of it But at least we shall have had this
hour of freedom and rest"
"I could bear it better," he returned, "if
there were any. element of struggle. To sit
stillin a cage until death chooses to come
an I put an end to you that's terrrible I"
She turned toward him and seemeJ to con
sider his point of view until it became hers,
for she shuddered and said: "It is horrible!"
There was silence again between them for
a little wmie. Again, wnen her lace was
bent forward, he was able to watch its out
line. Surely she was younger than he had
supposed.
"What made you stay?" he asked suddenly.
She hesitated a little.
"What made youi"
"I hardly knew, more.than what I said
that nobody cared much whether I did or
not, and that I did not care much myself.
But I am older than you, and I have had
about as much out of life as it will ever give
me."
"I don't think that it need be a question of
age how much one's life is worth. Mine did
not matter to any one, either; and it was not
very easy or hopeful for myself. I bad
wanted so much, and had to learn that I
must do with so little. Of course it is not
noble to care so much about one's own petty
happiness, but ohl one does care! And then,
all at once, here was a way of escape, not
selfish, but to help happier people, and
it seemed the key to everything when you
stood up in the boat and said that you would
stay."
"Yet," said he, "I could not help, wonder
ing as we stepped out, whether what we
were really giving to those young lovers was
only time to lose their love for each other,
even m remembrance. For death can only
destroy the future, but life can destroy the
past too."
"Are you sorry, then, that you staid f"
There was a little note of mockery in the
question, or his conscience created it
"No, it Beemed the thing to do. One can
but act in the present And even if a man
could know certainly that death would keep
their love for them, and life would lose it, he
could harly bring himself to say. Then let
death come.' It takes Apollo to give death
when he Is asked for the best gift But yet,
what a chance for two lovers to have died
together sol"
She drew a rather deeper breath and made
no spoken answer. -.
Down at the far horizon the late moon was
rising, vague and cloudy. A ghostly light,
bringing in its wake mysterious shadows,
spread slowly as the moon drowsily lifted
herself and dropped the mists from her
shoulders. The man, looking down, in this
clearer light, to the water, started and said,
"it is coming up much faster."
She stooped and looked. Then their eyes,
luting, sought each other. Both faces were
pale in the moonlight On both sat the
human shrinking from this upward crawling
law 1 ec it was something to see each other.
"How long is it to morning?" she asked.
tt a. 1 A 1 . .
no urew out nis waccn, dui cnere came a
cloud across the moon and they had to wait
"It is just past 13," said he.
"Perhaps they will come, out by moon
light"
"f erhaps," said he. But neither of them
had any trust in the hope.
lie bad seen in the moment when they
looked at each other that she was indeed
younger than his first supposition, though
hardly so young as his second. She might
be 25. It was not the face of a girL She
had returned to her former position, and
now, leaning back against the chimney,
lifted up her face to the sky. Her eyes
were closed ana ner lips drawn in. There
was but time to look once before the lips
curved again into a smile and the eyes opened
to a calm gaze.
The man sitting by her heard the changing
and deepening tone of the water as it came
up and up.
"You are to young for this," said he ab
ruptly.
His voice had changei and deepened like
the tone of the water.
o. no," she answered alter a moment
"Don't trouble about me."
"I do trouble about you. It's horrible!
horrible H
sr i. m ' ..
one again Kept silence ior a little space;
then she sail: v hen I beard you say that
in tbe boat, and get np to stay, I felt sud
denly as if it was a cruel thing not to stay
with you, too, as well as to save them."
She had been obliged to speak tho last
words loudly, for the wind rose suddenly and
fiercely, and the shock of the water broke
noisify on the walls. And as she ceased came
a terrible crash; the whole build
1 , . .
iu- ere a it eu am Bwayea; uier were
heavy splashes in the water, and water
spouted over them as they caught and clung
to each other. Long hair was blown before
his face. They held each other fost, panting
and trembling. There was a sound of water,
running, trickling and dropping. The calm
moon, pursuing ber leisurely pathway,
passed out from behind a cloud, a'Jd showed
them that the platform at the other end of
the house had given way, and the : stack of
chimneys opposite had fallen.
"If it had been these!" said she.
They crouched nearer together, each still
holding to the other. The fear in each mind
now was the fear of being divided, of losing
all human companionship. The waters were
rising faster, rising, as it seemed, with a
malignant, hungry joy."
"It can't be long npw, said the man.
"No," said she.
There were a few more life-long moments
in Which they sat silent, breathing hard.
1 he wild gust of wind abated; the moon
found a wide, open archway among the
clouds; the face of the wafers grew by com
parison still again.
"And so," said he, "it was lor me you
stayed, and even at the end I can't go away
in peace without pulling down some one else.
And you, who stayed, are a stranger, and we
shall die here together, strangers. Oh, the
irony of this world! All my life I have been
solitary and deserted. It has been my fault
no doubt it has been my fault; and now life
is over. It's all too late, and there's no
time."
She remained silent, and the monotonous
pulse of the water throbbed below.
"But if, by any miracle, we should be
saved,, at least we know each other now,"
saidhe.
"Do we? Well, the depths, perhaps, of
each other, but not the shallows. If we were
to ba saved we should feel like friends till we
came to land, and then you would go your
way and I mine; and if we were to meet
once a week for a twelve-month we should
speak to each other at first, and the j we
should nod ' and smile, and by and by we
should pass and take no notice. Io, what
knowledge or friendship we have does not
belong to this life!"
"You believe, then, in another?"
so much as that I can't believe in death. We
could not be capable of so much, and de
sirious of so much, and nothing come. Wo
have not half enough. I feel so much,
much more. No, I am not afraid. There'f
more."
He in his turn was silent Perhaps he
forebore, out of pity, to put forth a word
against her hope; parhapa in his soul, too, a
like hope, which he had taken to be long
dead, began to stir and murmur.
The moon had put on, minute by minute, a
fuller g'.ory; it was illuminating an arch of
clouds, and beyon 1 the arch lay measureless,
liquid, lucid depths. She looked and pointed
upward. The full glow shone on her face.
He saw in her dark eye a slow, ineffable
softening; in all the lines of her features
breathed a spirit of exultant reception.
"The open doorway of mfinity," said be,
fitting to this radiance its apt poetic descrip
tion, but without anything of the poet's rap
ture or belief, her lips moved to a recognizing
smile.
And can3ou look up to that and despair??
she asked.
"That has no voice for me. It is too far off.
too silent, too unmoved. That glory may
come back, as serene, to look down on my
drowned face. But you have to die with
me. What hope there is in life or death you
have shown me. I don't know that it is last
ing or that it is good for much; but such as
it is, it comes from you."
Again the water came rushing over the
fallen chimneys, and they looked out in mo
mentary apprehension. But the sudden tor
rent subsided, and the waters went on rising
again slowly as before.
He then quietly proceeded: "One thinks of
life as the life one bos known. To-nisht a
glimpse has come to me of something that
seems to make life worth going on with. It
may be life on the other side of a division ; I
can't tell. I don't want to be carried back
into the old life, but I do want life, the life
that I nearly saw just now, when we thought
that our time was upon us. Aud I have
found you, standing with me under the
brink. We do not know each other, you say;
we are not friends, and we can't be. I don't
know. I only know that I would neither go
on nor back alone."
ner nanu, wmcn sua ciung to his arm,
trembled and was withdrawn, and the next
moment stole softly into his.
Tbey sat quite silent, and the endless night
drew on. Memories rose before each of them
of hopes and dreams that had once been all
and all, and now wre small and faint, and
immeasurably dtstant Around them, rising
always, surged the persistent waters. Now
and again gusts of wind awoke suddenly and
brought a sweep of waves over the sub
merged masonry.
Presently, oozmg drops began to creep be
tween the chimneys oenin 1 them.
"We must go up higher," said the man.
They quitted their sheltered nook, and,
mounting, stood upon thj platform of brick
work. The wind flung itse.f upon them in
fury. '1 hey clung to the chimneys an i to
each other, ani for a f3w minutes stood so,
battling strenuously to keep their foothold.
Tbe man cried out su Idenly: "Oh! if there
were only some place for you. It is too hard
a death for you. I am s sorry fir you."
And even while he spoke the water was up
about their feet, snatching and dragging at
them.
"I am not sorry," she answered. "And oh.
no! it is not hard: it is the best moment life
has ever brought me I"
Her voice was blown away as it crossed her
lips. It was only because they were uttered
at his ear that he could hear her words. And
his, of reply, the winds snatched and carried
away forever. Ibetimoof words was over.
There was nothing now but hard-drawn
bieath, and the vain struggle of resistance,
and then, a placid moon shining over a waste
of flood.
The Boy with a Watch.
Detroit Free Press.
It stands to reason that a boy cannot have
a watcn ana reiain mac sweec Doyisoness
which is the delight of his parents, and tbe
terror of the neighborhood. How can he
tear through back alleys, and over vacant
lots in "hi spy" with a watch in his pocket or
crawl under sidewalks aud circus tents with
ease and pt opiiety if timed down by an hour
band! llow can ue stand on bis bead, or
make a wheelbarrow of himself, or do cart
wheels, or "wrassel" for the championship of
the crowd! What excuse can he give for be
ing late at school, and early at a fire! No;
don't watch the innocent youth. Don't let
him begin in Lii early years to go on tick.
Lime Kiln Club: Dar' was a lot o' sick!
hosses in Wall street, an' when the condishun
powders gin out de animau rolled ober an'
died. In kickin' around dey hit sartin people
on de sbiiiH.
To wed, rr nat to wJ? that itf'the question.
Whether it is wiser iu a girl to enjoy
The tempting visions of single blessedness,
Or. to be led, by some man of our times, to
the altar, j
And. by marriage, en i tnemi 10 wed, to
doubt '
No more; and by that act to end
The heartache, and calm the palpitating
Bosom of some love-sieic youth I 'tis a con
summation
Devoutly to be wished. '
- JVasisar UisceUany.
A Heal Summer Hotel.
Cor. New York Mail and Express.
Of the davs I spent in exauisite cool
ness and comfort in the delightful Cuban
houses, there was ' none when I did not
reflect how strange a thing it is that our I
summer hotels and summer cottages in
this country are not built upon the !
tropical plan. The more I turned the j
question of the practicability of the mat
ter over in my mind the less reason I ,
could see why, with such modes before
us, we continue to build summer dwel
lings upon the same plan as our city
wiatcrhouses.
The most delightful lodgings I ever in
habited were in a hotel in Mantanzas.
My bed-room had a floor of tiling at
least fifteen and perhaps twenty feet be
low the ceiling. The door was cut in
two, width-wise, so that the top could be
shut to keep the sun out, or the bottom
could be shut to keep intruders out
while the open ton let in the air: or a
curtain could be drawn across the lower
half -whet: I wished to read or write, or
take comfort m my shirtsleeves, with
privacy and coolness combined.
A little window high m the opposite
wall provided for the circulation of air.
But when the door was wholly open, I
saw beyond the little covered gallery
that led to all the rooms around a central
court, a tropic garden at my feet and the
clear sky overhead, for the court was
open to the sky, and was planted with
fruit trees and flowers in great boxes on
a flooring of marble mosaic. Every
room in the two-story hotel opens on
this court and has a window or door
through the outer wall. The guests sit
in the dining-room looking out upon the
smiling park across the street or back
into the little garden in the heart of the
house. The kitchen, the baths, the
closets and the sleeping-rooms of the
help are on the farther side of this court,
to all intents and purposes in a separate
building. The front of the hotel on the
ground floor is a series of doors and win
dows so big and close together that when
all are open the people of the house en
joy all the advantages or the open air
without suffering from the sun. If the
air 13 moving m Mantanzas it moves
through that hotel.
The Early Riser a Nuisance
San Francisco Chronicle "Undertones."
I remember many years ago reading a
most sensible article m an English paper
on early rising." It set down early rising
as the bane of modern civilization.
Really, I believe it is right. Thegentle-
man over me is not a newspaper man.
He goe3 to bed early and very early he
begins to move about. In the con
sciousness of virtuous industry he
despises all who do not get up as early
as he does, homctimcs he sms, but
there is always a heartiness and cheer
fulness about his dressing in tho morn
ing which keeps all bcIov him awake.
As a positive tact tne early riser is a
nuisance, in these days when lite only
begins atter dinner, the man who rises
with the lark breaks up everything. He
begins to yawn during dinner. He goes
to sleep and snores immediately atter.
He is remonstrated with, and gives as an
excuse that he gets up at daylight. He
gets up at daylight, he wakes up all the
house, he is merry when people are en
joying their best sleep, and he simply
inflicts upon himself, with the most vir
tuous and praiseworthy intent, annoy
ance.
An irmr of Benedicts.
London Truth.
lne Italian army nas ior some years
been known as a legion of benedicts.
For many years it was a royal rule that
no omcer noiamg nis majesty's com
mission should marry unless he possessed
a certain amount of private income. It
aly is not a rich nation, and the subal
terns of its army are not wealthy. The
consequence is that married olhcers have
been the exception, not the rule m Italy.
The grievance for in this light the rule
has been regarded by its victims was
recently brought under the notice of his
majesty, and the king has now relaxed
the regulation, fixing the marriage in
come of his officials at a point which will
enable gallant gentlemen to enter the
bonds of matrimony in the broad light
of day, as becomes the action of the
soldier, instead of marrying in secret
and repenting at leisure.
A Burial In Palestine.
Jaffa Cor. Kansas City Journal
The other day a tomb was opened, and
I had the surprise of discovering that
the Biblical method of interment still
prevailed. It was a young man who had
died. His body was first washed and
then wrapped in new white linen, the
feet and hands being tied with the same
stuff, and a napkin being wound around
his face, as in the case of Lazarus. Then
the bones of the young man's father
were taken out of the grave, . and put
back into the new grave with the fresh
remains. As this process is repeated
from generation to generation, of course
the dust of previous paternal ancestors
is mingled with the fresh . consignments
of clay, so that the dead may literally
be said to sleep with their fathers."
A French Equipage.
New York Post
A new style of equipage is to be in
troduced at Newport and Lenox this
year, called by the French a char-a-banc.
It is intended to accommodate a large
party, and is better adapted for country
drives than for regular avenuo parade.
Its distinguishing novelty is the three
horses abreast which drag it, and a Rus
sian innovation of a large hoop fastened
over the back of the middle horse, to
which small bells are attached, has been
introduced with those ihat have been
imported to this country. The effect
will be novel and picturesque, no doubt:
but in a country neighborhood the tink
ling bells might call up memories of the
rag and bottle man, or the summer ice
cream cart.
The Strength of Growing Birch.
Exchange.
only about forty feet high, two roots of
which have been able to lift some twelve
inches a block of granite computed to
weigh twenty tons. The tree is still
growing, and the rock continues to be
raised and pushed sideways at the rate
of nearly an inch a year.
Philadelphia Call: A patent device
for fastening a neck-tie has iust been
sold to a company for $1,000,000. If it
will keep the necktie from playing leap-
trog with tne collar it is wortn it.
"OUR OLD MAMMY.
1
jar Drivers' Care for aa Old Wsraa
ISJtj
Because She IAke4'm AIL
. ,;v Detroit Free Press.
"What's that for?' asked a Free Press
man, as ne saw a car driver on wood
ward avenue take a nickel from his
pocket and pass it into the fare box.
MJ?'or her." i
"What her?. ; -
The car stopped and the driver got!
down with a "Good morning, mammy V
ana assistea an 01a woman 01 i u to enter
the car. -
T0id yon pay for her ?"
"Yes."
"Why?"
"Well, the story runs back for almost
two years," he said, as he picked np hisj
lines. "I reckon yon know Bill ?";
" WelL two rears ' ago he was one of
tte toughest men in Detroit. He drank,!
swore, gambled, and had all the other,
vices lying around loose. I tell yon,'
he was a terror when off duty and on a
spree. He was getting so bad on hisj
car, that another week , would have
bounced him, but something hap
pened."
"What?"
"He was coming up one evening, half-
drunk and full of evil, and somewhere
about Davenport street he lurched over,
the dash-board. He" caught and was t
dragged, and the horse began to kick'
and run. That old woman there was'
the only passenger on the car, and
when she saw the accident she came'
out, grabbed the flying lines with one'
hand and the brake with the other,
and looking down upon Bill she called
out : "
"Oh! Lord! help me to save him I
He's a wicked young man and not fit to
die!" i
'Well, she stopped that car and held
to the horse until some one came along
and helped BiU out of his fix, and she
was all the time calling him 'poor boy
and 'mv son' and thankinsr God he was
not killed. He had a close call, though,
and it was a solemn warning. From
that night he hasn't taken a' drink, and
no driver on this line has a cleaner mouth
or is taking better care of himself."
"And the old woman?"
"She lives away out, along with a
daughter. Many's the dollar Bill has
sent after her since that night in the
way of clothes and provisions, and hell
never forget her. The story came to the
rest of us after awhile, and we've sort
of adopted her as 'Our Old Mammy.'
We help her on and off, pay her nickel
out of our own pockets, and when the
car isn't too full we have a minute's
chat with her. She likes ns all, and we
wouldn't trade her off for the whole line.
It's a bit of romance among ourselves, .
you see.
les. Did she ever talk to you?"
"Did she? She sat right there on
that stool one day two months ago and
said: ' . ; ' ...
" 'Sly son, let drink alone! It robs
the pocket, cheats the brain, and
leaves you friendless! Don't swear!
Oaths go" with a vicious soul! Keep
your temper. The man who can't con
trol his temper is no better than a
caged wolf!'" !
"She said that with her blue eyes
reading my soul and her old voice
trembling with earnestness, and every
word went right to my heart and
lodged there. She's had something to
say to most of the boys, and I reckon
each one i the better for it. Curious.
ain't it, how we found our old mammy,
and maybe you'll believe with some of
ns that Providence had a hand in' it."
A Wonderful Bream.
New York Times.
A correspondent in a foreign scientifio
contemporary tells this story about
dreaming: "In the i summer of 1822,
when an undergraduate of Trinity col
lege, Cambridge, I was permitted to
reside in college rooms during the sum
mer long vacation. : Aa fires were not
wanted in our sitting-rooms it was cus
tomary for each resident's bed maker or
other officer to carry his water, kettle
for breakfast and tea to the coHege
kitchen and bring it back with
water boiling. On one occasion I
had overslept my usual hour, and I
dreamed a dream. I was at the gate
of a country farmyard well known to
me, and there eame a long proces
sion of horses, asses, oxen, hogs, sheep,
and all the animals usually to be found
in a farmyard, followed by a north
country drover with his plaid crossed
over his shoulders, who walked up to
me and said : 'Sir, I have brought
your cattle.' In an instant I perceived
and act aally heard (so intimately were
the auditory sounds and the inteUect
ual interpretation intermixed) that my
bed maker was at my chamber door
calling to me : 'Sir, I hare brought
your kettle.' The hearing had been
confused; there had been no reasoning;
but there had been instantaneous rigor
of creative imagination."
The Verbiage or the Courts.
New York Tribune.
"I was in court a few days ago," said
a time-worn litigant, " when a young
lawyer, arguing before Judge Joseph
"Barnard, read from one of the papers
in the case including : the usual verbi
age. The judge suggested a briefer
statement of the point, probably believ
ing, with the judge of the'supreme court
in the- anecdote, that justices may be
presumed to know something of the
forms of law. The young man then
stated his point in plain and condensed
English. The idea then struck me,
when would it be possible to relieve
the law of all the flummery of verbiage
now employed. . !
"In actual proceedings before'a magis
trate this verbiage is discarded as abso
lutely unnecessary in argument ; yet it
is religiously maintained in all matters
of pleading and in aU orders, injunc
tions, etc, granted by the courts. Half
the delays grow out of the nse of ver
biage. Half the quibbles out of which
some unscrupulous lawyers make their
living are based upon this needless use
of unnecessary words." A lawyer who
was present could give him no encour
agement to look for a speedy reform;
on the contrary, he irreverently said
that the verbiage of the law was as nec
essary to the existence of the lawyers
as the flummery of some religions was
to the success of its advocates and ministers.
back.