i.
GRAY DAWN.
my (Iawh poem In ami sweetly ml!:
A light lirwwe, wvitiliiK iIdwd the stream,
LlfU tiiifli tlie fou in hih. vy iillou;
Tbe sun's llrril biirtiliiR lumnw gleam
AIoiik the uoMiIikI river ban It n,
And tulHty liiwu In mud retreat
Withdraw iliuir broken, scattered ranks.
The bold huh murks their mul defeat
Aud (UtMlpttiwi their struggling flank.
Oray dawn gives pltuso to ruddy day;
The grunt nun swings through uaure skies.
And skimming, where the ripples play,
The BoroamliiK rtHhliawks fall and rise.
The ghuwy ivittor, uiml and ulnar,
Kellu-tit one military aloud,
And iniirning sung blrtlH, far and near,
Koxmt tlmlr nmilUHUlirill and loud, .
"The bight t done and day U here."
-Exchange,
GO TO THE MILLS."
Eight you! ago 1 was foreman in the
Guilford powder works.
It was a dangerous situation, and not
altogether as pleasant on it might have
beon. But the salary was larger than 1
could obtain in any otter place just
then, and this, to a man with an invalid
mother and a little sinter to support,
was no iMiuin object. Besides 1 hoped at
no very distant day to have a home of
my own, presided over by the girl of my
choice beautiful Marion Ware. This
dream of happiness in the future made
me better contented with my life. 1
was willing to work for a competence
that she would share with me.
We wore to be married in November,
and as the time drew near an intense de
sire Beized me to eacaiie from the mo
montous, dangerons existence 1 led in
the mills. A few wenkB would make no
difference to my employers, 1 thought,
and so wlien 1 gave my notice to leave
1 gave it for the 14th of September in
stead of November, as 1 had hBt in
tended. My employers were very sorry to part
with me. and they offered to .raise my
salary, hut 1 had decided and was not
to be turned from my decision. The lust
day of my stay passed quietly enough,
and at ulght I loft the dark buildingB
behind me with a thrill of relief.
That was a happy evening, Marion
had been sending the afternoon with
my mother, and 1 had walked home
with her, and It was near midnight when
1 got home. 8oou after 1 jell asleep,
but my rest was troubled. 1 supposed 1
must have beon dreaming, but it seemed
a vivid reality to me then.
1 was standing in the thick forest
which surrounded the works, at the
very point where the path to the village
diverged and led it over the hill and
through the field to the mills. It was in
a wild, dreury path, for it was necessary
that the mills should be removed as fur
from any human habitation us possible,
and there wus uo more fitting Bpot thuu
the "vulley of despair" for miles around.
There wus a Htruggle in my mind; 1
thought 1 could not decide which path to
take the oue leading into the distant
village or the old accustomed one to tho
mills. While 1 woe sitting 1 heard a
voice, clear, solemn and strong, that
seemed to come from the ends of the
earth, and it said:
"Uo to the nulls! Your work is not
yet finished."
1 awoke. The moon was shining
ioldly iu at the window, the great arum
of tlie elms moved slowly to and fro in
the night wind, and a lonely cricket
chirped in the wainscot. 1 lay down
aguiu, thinking of little but my dreum,
save to rejoice it was only a dream, and
shortly oiler fell asleep.
Again wus thut vision repeated with
singular miuutouuss, circumstance for
circumstance, and uguiu 1 awoko. ,1
thought it extremely remarkable that 1
should dream twice on the same matter,
bnt explained it to myself thut 1 had
been thinking so much of my departure
from the mills. It was a coincidence,
nothing more, 1 said, and turniug over 1
soon lost my consciousness.
For the third time that haunted dream
visited me, and this repetition wus
almost frightfully vivid. Everything
about it bore so strongly the semblance
of reality that I started up covered with
cold perspiration.
The moon hud gone down, the dawn
was breaking in the euut cold aud gray.
I am not superstitious, and 1 will confess
that an involuntary shudder swept over
me when 1 recollected what I had
passed. 1 tried to shake off the spell
that was on my spirit, but in vain; it
was as if I hud walked world lost to all
humanity forever.
; I rose, and dressing myself went down
' to work in the gurden. I was restless
and unousy, laboring under a consciouu
oess of some duty uuf ullillod.
, At lost 1 put down my hoe and went
into the house. 1 put on my mill clothes
and sought my mother, fciho looked up
in surprise as 1 said:
"Mother, 1 am going to the mills."
j '"Iudeedl I had hoped you were done
going there, Edward. Yesterday wus
the 14th, wus it not
I ''Yes; but I feel obliged to go today.
My work Is uot yet done; it will be fin
ished soon, I think."
1 I kissed her and wont out. At the
dqlir of the grinding mill 1 mot Mr. Mor
tal, the senior proprietor. He grasped
mjt hand eagerly.
Ah, Uroen, glad to see youl What's
wis i near ubout your leaving nsf Lin
coln wus speaking about it lost night
WIW, we couldn't part with you at all."
"U did give notice to leave last night,
anil intended yesterday for my lost day
in the mill: but circumstances have de
cided me fo romain some time Jonger-a
wontu, po, upa.
".Eight!,
))' you must sot m time.
Thank you; I will think of it," 1
said, and went on with my duties as
usual.
Everything went quietly on in its ac
customed routine, 1 began to smile at
the absurdity of my last n: ,-lit's vision.
1 had eaten too much s..imcr; staid
out too long whispering sof i nothings to
Marion, 1 said to myself.
Toward night a party of visitors ar
rived. Such things were frequent,
Newark was somewhat of a summer
resort for city people, and a sojourn
thore was not complete without a visit
to the powder mills.
1 went out to meet this party and to
assist them in changing their shoes and
garments thut might huve buttons of
any metallic substance, for it was one of
the cardinal regulations that no person
should be allowed in the interior mills
who had a particle of metal about them,
or nails in their shoes, for the fear of
combustion by friction.
Our visitors were two gentlemen and
three ladies. The two elder ladies I did
not notice particularly, bnt the younger
one attracted me in spite of myself.
W hy, 1 didn t know. She was not really
beantif ul my murion was much more
brilliant but there was something
nhout her bettor than beauty.
I he guy company, laughing and jok
ing, and buntering euch other in re-
gurd to their fear, followed me in. The
lady in blue walked quietly by my side,
saying very little, barely replying to the
lively sullies of her companions per
haps she thought it ill timed mirth; 1
don't know.
We had been all the rounds and had
returned to the reception room, next to
the drying room, at one end of the main
building. This apartment overhung the
pond, from whence came our supply of
water, the basin of which was formed of
a large dark gorge iu the hollow of the
wooded hills. There was a large swing
ing door opening from the room directly
over the pond for the convenience of
casting out rubbish, and this door 1
threw open for the visitors to obtain a
view of the prosiwct beyond. They soon
tired of this, all but the lady l blue, who
Btill stood looking out over the dreary
scene, lighted by the departing rays of
the lurid sun.
Suddenly 1 heard a low, ominous hiss
from the adjoining apartment, a sound
which once heard is always remembered;
my blood turned to ice iu my veins.
1 recognized my fate m another sec
ond's time we should be in eternity.
1 snak-hed the womun by my side and
plunged through the gaping doorway.
Simultaneously a deafening roar burst
upon my head a crash, as if the globe
wus rent teu thousand cannons were
discharged in my ears the blood flowed
from my eyes and nose the air was
bluck with missiles, which reached the
wuter only a little later than we did.
Down, down we went, it seemed, to an
intenuiuuble depth, but thut plunge
siwed us.
When we came up everything was
still. A deathly silence had fallen on
all nature the place reeked with
suffocating smoke, rolling up from the
ruins, dumb us the vapor of death.
1 swum to the shore with my com
puniou and suppjrted her up the bunk,
She wus not uncouscious. Her dress
wus drenched with blood, i lifted my
arm to seek the wound, and suw that
the crimson tide flowed not from her
vieus, bnt from the mutilated stump
where once belonged my own right hund.
It had been blown off.
1 went home us oue in a walking
dream. I remember very little of it ex
cept that the. lady in blue was with me,
that she talked soothingly to me in a
sweet voice, and that afterward, when 1
suffered untold agonies from eome sharp
instrument, she stood by me with words
of gentle rest aud peace: after that, all
was blank.
There was a little snow on the hills
that 1 could see from the window.
When 1 awoke to consciousness I spoke
my first thought, "Where is Marion!"'
Mother tried to put me off with an
evasive answer, but 1 would know the
whole truth. She told it to me with
great reluctance. Marion hud not been
to see me since the day of the accident,
and thou at the sight of me she uttered
a shriek of horror and tied from the
room. ' .
"But has she sent no message?"
. "There is a note, but you must not
read it till you are better. You have
been eight weeks delirious, and the ex
citement may be fatal."
"Give me the letter," I said, with all
my stern self will in my voice. "If not,
1 will get up and seek it myself. "
She brought it to me, the delicate,,
rose perfumed thing, no more heartless'
than she who dictated it. It was ele
gantly got up altogether. )
Miss Ware sympathized with tai
deeply hoped and trusted I would I e
restored to health, etc., and ended jin
releasing me from my engageine ft
She prayed 1 might be granted resigna
tion, and closed in saying she was my
most sincere and attached friend.
1 crushed this scroll in my hand.. I
would have ground it to powder anni
hilated its very dust from the face' of
the earth if 1 could. 1 didnt mean to
curse Marion Ware, but 1 am not sure
that I did. It would not be strangd
Every day there was a fresh bouquet
of hothouse flowers on th-W,lJ '! ! .--'"
by the bedside. After awhile I H gan
to feel curious about them. I asked my
mother whe(fe they came from. t'
"Miss Uaj'lord sent them."
"MiB,Unlord? I know no Buch pet
ou.,! " f
The young lady yon saved bum the
explosion with yon. She is a Miss Adele
Guy lord, of Trenton, and to her you owe
an everlasting debt of gratitude, Ed
ward. 1 often think she saved your life,
fur when you raved in delirium and
would have torn off the bandages from
your head when the surgeon had tre
panned your wound, she aloue had the
power to quiet you. Why, when you
were at the worst she stood over you
three days and nights without sleeping,
never complaining, never getting out of
patience with your moods. She is an
angel!"
Miss Gaylord called in several times
during the next three weeks. How
beautiful she was to me now.
By the 1st of December 1 was able to
sit up most of the time and go out some.
One clear starlight nwit my mother
left me alone for the first time during
my illness; she and my little sister Eflie
went to a Sabbath school conceit in the
village. 1 brightened the fire on the
hearth, drew up a great armchair and
nat down to a quiet hour of dreaming.
The music of sleigh bells aroused me.
The music ceased for a moment, then
passed down the road. The door opened
softly and Adele Gaylord came in.
Blushing and hesitating at seeing me
alone, wrapped up in rich furs and crim
son hood, she paused on the threshold. 1
rose up to meet her.
Come in, Miss Gaylord; J am glad to
welcome you.
"Where id your motherr
"Gone to the village with Effie. Let
me take off your wrarps, will your
I drew up a chair for her and took off
her outside innents. She was hardly
at her ease.
"Indeed, 1 ought not to stay, Mr.
Greene; papa was going to the Ride, and
will be back at 8, and will take me home
then."
"You are not afraid of me, Miss Gay
lord. 1 am not an ogre, if 1 have but one
baud. I think you will stay. 1 should
have been very lonesome."
"1 called to say goodby, Mr. Greene,"
said she in a subdued voice; "lam going
away tomorrow."
"Yes; you go to Trenton, do you not?"
"For a few weeks only. We sail for
Europe the first of February. Papa has
business there which will detain him
Borne years and he wishes me to go with
him."
"Bon voyage. May heaven prosper
you.
1 gave her my one hand. She laid
hers in it, cold and trembling, and our
eyes met. There were tears on her
cheeks. They dropped down and fell on
our clasped hands. A wild, beautiful
hope sprung up in my heart, and yet
hardly a proper move of a revelation.
"Oh, Adele, have 1 found life's sweet
ness to lose it forever? Would to heaven
1 were well and strong once more!"
"And what then?' she said softly, her
face hidden from my view beneath the
folds of crimson worsted.
The next mument 1 held her in my
arms.
"Adele, can it be? Shall it be? Re
member, 1 am but the mutilated wreck
of a man, but my heart is strong and
true and tender.
"1 remember everything, Bhe said,
"and I should be unworthy of a love
like yours did I care the less for you be
cause of this sad misfortune. For your
Bake, 1 wish it had never happened to
you. For my own, 1 have not a single
regret.
The sleigh whose bells we had heard
had long ago passed by; it was not her
father; aud we sat down together to en
joy the most nearly perfect happiness 1
had ever known.
Col. Gaylord came at last, to find his
.daughter encircled by my arm, her
blushes and my presumption making the
condition of things pretty evident to a
man of sense. We went up to him to
gether. Adele Bpoke then softly to him:
"Papa, this is Mr. Greene, who saved
me when the powder mill blew up. I
love him and he loves me. Will you
give us your blessing?
"I am happy to meet you, Mr. Greene,"
he said, cordially. "I suppose 1 owe my
daughter to you, but really I hud no idea
to give her up to you in this unceremoni
ous fashion. However, if you love her
and die loves you, and yon are the
honest man that people say you are,
take her and may God deal with you as
you deal with her."
7-he Guilford powder works were
never rebuilt, but I purchased their site,
aid on their ruins I have erected a f au
tistic tower to mark the spot where 1
'first met her who has made my life
beautiful. -New York News.
4 Not h Sign of Geo I us.
By all means let the letter writers
eome to Uncle Sam's assistance by im
proving their chirogra'phy and relieving
the dead letter office of superscriptions
that can't be deciphered. The notion
that illegible penmanship is a sign of
genius deserves to be dissipated. Bos
ton Herald.
Glass to Hold Vinegar.
Never keep vinegar or yeast in etone
crocks or jars; their acids attack the
glazing, which is said to be poisonous.
Glass for either is better. Exchange.
Expansion of Kino.
Zinc expands up to the melting point.
A bar of hammered line si.i inches long
will expand 1-100 of an inch in raising
the temperature 100 degs. F. New York
Journal. i '
, There are people wha navergive away
any milk until after they skim it. aid
then they want credit for cream.
A MIDNIGHT CONFIDENCE.
I am a Jersey 'skecter, and I revel by tho mo,
A-bitinjr d inlcs and common folk la man nor
Lroll and free;
Today I'm full of English blood; tomorrow
every vein
May hold ttio bluest, rlchoat gore that ever
came from bpaln.
Another day I'm like at not to sing "Die Wacht
am KlielD."
From having bit a German when perchance I
camotoufrio.
And there are times when, reeling on my happy
daily ways,
1 take a nip that's Paris bred and hum the
"MarsciliaiM."
Oftiimea I am a Russian from my wlngtlp to
my bill;
Of ttimca I hold the richest blood you'll find on
Murray hill.
Sometimes I take a mixture, but I And it does
not pay.
Unless I wish to suffer pain for many an
anxious day.
For I have found that when I've bit a Briton
and a Celt
I'm pretty sure to suffer in tho regions of my
belt.
And when a Frenchman I have nipped, of Ger
mans I keep free
I do not m ant a battlefield down in the midst
of me.
From which, 1 think, 'tis evident, while seem
ing free from care,
I have to keep a watchful eye upon my bill of
fare.
And that is why I stick by you, my friend, the
livelong niht
I'm dieting, and if I may I'll have another bite,
Harper's Weekly,
Sinful Impertinence.
Uncle Ebenezer bad driven into town to
see if he couldn't secure a few summer
boarders from the city. At the hotel he
saw two young tourists who wore frock
coats. When he got back to the farm, he
looked very thoughtful, and the following
dialogue ensued between him and Aunt
Eliza:
"Well, Eben, what luck did yew hevf"
"Lizer," said her liege lord solemnly,
"I've decided that we don't want nuno' j
them kind o' people tew cum tew our house
tew live,"
wny.wnuMiiauiiHiwirw.u. umr -
tously inquired the good woman who had
been building rosy dreamsof paying off the
mortgage with the proceeds of boarding the
"town folks."
"Wall, Lizer, mabhe I'm wrong tew feel
the way I dew, but them city chaps hain't
got no respec' fer nuthin. Down to ther
tarvern they wnz tew young chippity-chip
fellers a-wearin ministers' cloes an talkin
about the theayter, an I don't want them
kind er chaps in my house, munny er no
munny. So I didn't make no 'rangementa."
"An you did perflckly right, Eben,' said
the old lady as she returned to the kitchen.
Detroit Tribune.
' Rural Etiquette.
It was at a country Sunday school picnic,
where great quantities of the regulation
eatables chiefly apple pies had been
brought for the children to eat. Little
Mary Jane from away back in the hills,
was there with her mother, who kept an
eye on the child constantly to see that her
behavior was perfect.
Presently Alary Jane was observed dig
ging into an apple pie with her knife,
whereupon her mother spoke up;
"Mary Jane Berks!"
"What, ma'am"
"What be you a-doin?"
"Eatin pie, ma'am."
"What be you a-eatin it with?"
"Knifel"
"So yon bel Now, what have I told you
about eatin pie with your knife, Mary
Jane I Take that pie in your hand and eat
it as you ought to." Texas Sittings.
ttuite Humble.
The tramp had essayed the kitchen door
of a house on lleaubieu Btreet and was re- i &fT mauy disgraceful adventures he en
ceiyed politely. listed in the army. In 1790 he returned
"I guess they ain't been livin here long," . p . ... ... .
he said to himself as the cook disappeared , 10 r'1"8 Wltn 8orae mon7 ' Z
for the refreabniems." I ever ho squandered. Next he was
"Here," she said, returning, "here is some sentenced at Lille to eight years' hard
bread and meat, aud I4n sorry I can't give labor for forgery, but repeatedly escaped,
you a piece of pie." j and in 1808 he became connected with
"Don't worry about that, lady," he re-. the Paris police as a detective,
plied, with a bow. "Hread and meat's good His previous career enabled him to
iuuKu lur me. i im u t et uuwiu
yesterday, aud i ain't no dood today."-
uctroib t rcc t rcss.
-Life.
Saved.
"Helpl help!" cried the bather. "I'm
drnwninirl Tats me line."
"Mm Overboredl"
I haven't got a line," shouted the man ana nuas tuat tue lamous "glass ' sup
on shore, "but if you'll keep up llvemin- per properly has no place in it. The
ut8rilrunup to tho hotel aud get my "glass" slipjier is really the "fur, "cloth"
swimmer's manual. It'll tell you what to or "felt" slipper, the word "glass" hav
do in a case of this kind." ing beeu snn8tituted through a strange
But it was not necessary. A kindly wave mistranslation of the story. Intheorig-
oame along and washed the bather ashore . , ., ... ,. .a
Insufety.-Harper'sBaaar. inal lt was wntten pnntoufla -en vair,
. , which, being translated, would be "the
Didn't Want to Se. It. fur slipper." The translator, however,
For two hours the fashionable lady kept wrote il as if f "U pautoutle en
the draper exhibiting his goods, and at th. verre, making the "little cinder girl's"
end of that period she sweetly asked: fur foot covering oue of glass, which, it
"Are you quit sure you have shown me must be admitted, wonld be oue quite
everything you havef" appropriate to a fairy.St. Louis
insinuating smile, "I have yet an old ac
count in my ledger which I shall very glad
ly show you." Tit-Bits.
Hie Plan.
Gladys How did he let you know he waa
trell offf
Eleanor-He wrote me.
Gladys Aud told you sof What wretch-
edly had form... - 4
, Lleanor-Oh, , no. He only signed his
came, "tmcerely yourt, t $. $inivhou."-r
'truth.
A BRILLIANT CORRESPONDENT.
B. J, Edwards Has Achieved Fame a as
Editor and Writer.
A Philadelphia newspaper is fortunate lt
the possession of a New Vork correspond
ent who often "scoops" the astute editors of
the metropolis, and students of contempo
raneous Journalism are occasionally enter
tained by the Bpectacle of New York news
papers quoting from the Quaker City jour
nal exclusive news of the alert correspond
ent. This anomalous condition of affairs
is not so much the fault of the New York
editors as their misfortune, for very few
newspaper men have access to such unusual
sources of exclusive and important infor
mation as are open to "Holland." "Hol
land" has long been a familiar and favor
ite signature with newspaper readers, but
very few of them are aware that It conceals
the identity of E. J. Edwards, one of the
most brilliant and best known of New
York journalists.
When Mr. Edwards graduated from Yale
in 1870, it was with the intention of follow
ing the law, but his attention was diverted
E. J. EDWARDS.
to journalism, and he soon found that th
t pPoei)aion offered a broaderaud more
, fw hig endeflvor8 After
! . . , annnnnauhin Mr
serving a brief apprenticeship on the New :
Haven Palladium and Hartford Courant
he went to New York and took a position
on The Sun. He was made the paper's Al
bany correspondent and was soon trans
ferred to the wider field at Washington.
There he distinguished himself in assisting
to unearth the star route frauds, and ac
cording to Mr. Dana wrote the best report
of the assassination and sickness of Presi
dent Garfield.
After several years in Washington Mr.
Edwards was recalled to New York to be
come managing editor of The Evening
Sun, in which position he acquitted him
self -with his usual skill and brilliancy un
til he resigned to take charge of the New
York bureau of the Philadelphia Press.
During his labors as editor and correspond
ent Mr. Edwards has found time to write
a number of romances of the Revolution
ary period which were received with high ,
favor by the critics, and to do considerable
syndicate writing.
Mr. Edwards possesses the confidence
and friendship of ex-Postmaster General
James, ex-Mavor Grace, Chauucey M. De
pew and others ' il known in the business
and social world. He is thoroughly in
formed on public affairs, and his discus
sions of current topics are always interest
ing and instruct! ve.
Prince of Detectives,
Vidocq, the great French detective,
was born in Arras in 1775. He began
life as a baker aud early became the ter
ror of his companions by his athletic
frame and violent disposition. At tho
game time he was a notorious thief, and
ret)er important services, and he was
inted chief of the mtt3tj brigade
, . .
which purged Paris of the many danger
ous classes. In 1818 he received a full
pardon, and his connection with this
service lasted until about 1838, when he
settled at St. Mandu as a paper manu
facturer. Soon after the revolution of
1880 he became a political detective, but
with little success, In 1848 he was again
employed under the republican govern
ment, but he died penniieBS in 1857.
Cincinnati Commercial Gazette,
Cinderella nU U.rSlipper.
Yes, I know you are saying to your
self, "That headline would have looked
and sounded better ha it been 'Cinder
ella and the Glass Slipper,"1 but the
writer has been making a critical study
of this most interesting nnrsery story
fublic,
Tlie Modern IuiiiettQ.
Husband Why did your maid leaver
Wife She did not want to go with us to
Saratoga, Sue preferred Loug Branch. 1
refused to cbanie our nlaus. soshe re.irned
atonce. Teias Sifting. .,
... - .. jt -
, iTmjuestlmbir,
.That man m .1I1S rj have done an excel..
lent job of cleaning , Z this alley."
, yes He8 u new,ian.,,-CLieMo Trib.
1
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