TEEMS OF PUBLICATION.
The BRADVoRD RaPOSTIiR I. published every
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at One Dollar per annum, In advance.
WAdvertlsing in all cases exclusive of sub.
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he Iltrolvratt having a larger circulation than
shy other paper in the county, makes It the best
advertising medium in Northern Pennsylvania.
JOB PRINTING of every kind. in plain and
fancy colors, done with neatness and dispatch.
,Handbills. Blanks, Cards, Pamphlets, Billheads;
Statements, &c., of every variety and style. printed
at the shortest notice. The REPORTER °MCC Is
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ment of new type, and everything In the printing
liar an be executed in the' most artistic manner
and at the lowest rates. TERMS INVARIABLY
CASH.
I Xu6ine.ss garbs.
JOHN W. CODDINO,
ATTORNEY-AT-LAW, TCTWA'NDA, PA
I ince orer
THOMAS E. MYER
ATTORNEY-AT-LAW,
TOVA!+:IIi,
't co with 'Patrick and Foyle
pEcK & OVERTON
A TTOIIiNEYI3-ATLAW,
TOW AN DA , PA.
OVEUTON"
1) ODNEY A. MERCUR,
ATToI N EY 11T-1.
MWAND A., PA.,
S.,llelntr of Patents. Particular att.•ution paid
L. noslnes, In the 4 )1-plntpi Court and to tits settle
in,o. of estat••s.
r,hee in :11olitanyes Block
OVERTON S;:SAICDERSON,
ATTORN:EY-AT-LAW
Tow AN DA. PA.
I=l
W I T . IL JESSUP,
ATT./Rs:l:r AND CiIUNSELLOIt-AT-LAW,
lON"fl:OSF.. PA.
.I.l.l.,:e!.Tesylp having r....ttne.l the praetiee of the
pente.yl‘anla, will arterol to any
Int. ti.t.4.1 to him in Itraelfor.l eottnty.
I'.•r n,. wishing to eon..elt Itlm, ean tall on It.
R; r , ~ t ToWantla. l'a., m hen an app, :men!
cage :”•.tu Ile
I TE - 11Y STREETER,
=
ToWANDA, PA
e j AMES WOOD,
ATT6IIN AW
TOWANDA, PA.
MEE
TIT L. TOWNER,, M. P.,
1 1..
lit GlEor AT li PHYSICI.IN AND SUM; EON
Ite,hlooet. :not Ottlvo Jost North of 1)r. ror
Main ,ztrt.et, Athvi.s,
L
1 1 •
ATTOI:NEY-AT-I.Aw,
ToW ANDA: PA..
. F. F GUFF,
A TT"lt! , EY- tT-L
=I
ury f.yr the• sale and putease of all ki n d.: or
,cc CA., and for tnakinu loatiT en Iteal
All tuisiness gill ret oleoC. •
and prompt:
I rd.., I. 1,179,
NATII. TllO 11 3 S()N, ATTORStY
e Vl' LA W. Y A LI: , 1 IVIII attend
t ill% Carr' In Bradford,
t-alitt and Nt'yotning Counties. - trlice filth Eq.
tintel9-74.
E . 11. •ANG I,E, D. D. S
(wERATivE AND MECHANICAL DENTIST
No on State :4troot, seeond floor of Dr. Pratt's
apr 379.
IMti=
ATTORNEYS-AT-LAW,
TOW A N DA, PA.
N. C. Er.sitimx.
-; D. KINNI:]1",
IE
A TrortNEV• A T -L AM".
()1i1 , —R. 6 1119 formerly occupied by Y. M. r.
It.•:Laing [iin.3l•7s.
DI
1c1)11E11S,ON,
ATMH , EY-AT-T.AW,
TIIW.V.s;DA, PA.
te ro
JOHN W
ATtoliNEl"-AT-LAW .I..\D I'. S. Commissiomai,
T9W ND A,
Once—\onh Side Public square,
11 - .1 ES & CA lINOCIIA,N,
ATTOI:NEYS-AT-LAW,
S , rrT'l SIPE )1." l\' :1.11
23-M.
• ;
r , ql-4
nVer 1111ruvr Drug Store,
l'a. .lay hjulult , ,tl In Gorman.
,1 t) `c,
y •
ATT..!:`; EY-AT-I. %%%",
PA.
lid I loor south of the First NaVonal
7.,
I
'43111
WILLIAMS, A: - ANGI,I'.:,
I=
,L • I' Fl. E.—Form, oociltpit tl I,y W RI. 'Watkins,
=EI
I=
1 4 ,V M. XWE
•
A TT.i:NLY-AT-LAW
TO A N DA, PA.
n. , MtAr Daytt..l: - N Sttne
I').. I N 76
7 \IADILL CALII7,
ATTWZNI:V , •IT-T.AW,
T(ol'f ANll.k. l'A
ir. -n4 111o44:.
n.l
H.. 1. • ja:,-731y J. N. C A TAFF.
nit. S. M. IV001)1i1:1tN, PhySi
-11 rlr.o sergo 11Mee over 0.. A. 111;tek•H
sout:i of the First
Toy. ti May 1, ~::i,•.
NST M. S. VINCENT,
GENERAL
INSURANCE AGENT,
=BM!
\\T
Treth In-vrtr.l 1;4.01. 11'10,4er. and Al
u mntsl.l • T.. , 11, ciaarted NVItIIOIII.
T; D. 1'.t.1 . N F., M. D.. .
El J. Pl!V.lttls , ABU
On. C twVer 314,01 , ,a.ny..-' '-', , r, 04n./.4.11M11S from 10
to 12,A. NI., and f1,,n1 '2 to, 4 1.. It.
Sinn lal at1en1i,,n1.0,,•01, ,
111,1;'AI an ft or
:S I `DISEASES
1'
. .
T !I 1.. , 1.1,•1..i ~
/ THE EAR
MEM
I=l
once day last Mlturday of (W 4111101.1. h, over Turner
, ;ordon's Drug more, Towanda, Pa.
Towanda. inne CO. 1%7S
Ar RS: 11. PEET,
AC II Elt or PIAN(I,MVfIe,
TERMS.-1;10 per term.
Thltd al rcpt, INt Ward.)
Towintd.l,3an. 13,'79-Iy.
C S. RUSSELL'S
GENERAL
INSURAIN•CE AGENCY
TOW ANDA, PA.
ty2 , 70t1
FIRST NATIONAL BANK,
TOWANDA, PA
I'ITAL TAIL) IN
SI:RPIXS
Tiil: Bank offer:: 1113U5.111 facilities for the - trans;
I , liva of a general banking business.
J. 1.. POW ELL, President
' • ' Aril 1. It , .9
c 4 F.
,ELEY'S OYSTER BAY . I AND
j_l 117110PF.AN Itol:SE.—.k few doors southot
1',.. s! .;,,,, House. Itorird by the dar or creek on
r..a . -.T. , hours
ble terms. Warm meats serTett at alt
ttyhcnrit at wbolesale and retail. febl'fr.
COODRICH& HITCHCOCK. Publishers.
VOLUME XL.
f we knew. the woe and heartache
Waltlorfor us down the road, .
If our Ili* could t.ste the wormwood,.
If our backs Could feel the load, j
Would we waste to-day lu j
For a time that ue'er can he I'l •
Would we wait In such Impatience
Fur our ships to come from sea?
If we know the baby fingers
Pressed against the window pane
Would be cold add stiff to-morrow—
Never trouble ns again,
Would the bright eyes of our darling
Catch the frown upon our-bmw ?
Would the print of rosy fingers
Vea us then as ft does stow ?
5cp.25,":9
Ah ! those little ice-cold fingers. --
llowthey point our mentor} back
To the hasty words and actions
StreWu along our hackwork flack !
llow.these little hands remind US.
As in snowy grace they Ile,
Nut to scatter thorns, out roses,
For our reaping by-and-by ! • _
f
tg
Strange we never prize c -. nitiSle,
Till the sweet voiced I; rd has flown :
Strange that we'3hould s lit the violets
Till the lovely 11Jwers are gode ;
Strange that summer skies and sttnsine
Never seemone-halt so lair
As when winters snowy pinions ....
Shake theirs bite down in the air! .
BENJ. M. BECK
May 1,19
=1
Lips from which the real of slleLeu
None but Goal ran rollaway,
Never blossomed In such beauty
As adorn.: the mouth ;
And sweet words that freight our niemory
With their beautiful perfume,
i.'onie to us'in ' sweetest accents
Through the portals of the tomb.l
Let us gather up the sunbeams
Lying all along our path.
Let us keep the .wheat and roses,
I t log out the thorns and chaff
Let us find our sweetest. comfort
u the hle.ssrngs of to. ay,
IVith a patient nand removing
All our griefs (ruin lout our way.
=EEO
Singing softly to himself, Robert
Edbury rode over (late and over
down" in the sweet stillness of the .
July night. Ilaidly a breath of .air'
J
stirring in the branches of the
trees. Now and then an invisible
night bird piped a solitary note Ito
keep him company, and soft waVesZof
light streamed over' the hills as the
queenly moon, well attended by, lier
guards, rode indolently down the
broad highway of heaven. The blue
dome, looking soft as velVet, was,
like the fabled path of love, strewn
'thickly with the golden - kk,ses of the
stars.
=MS!
-As he gained the last hill,:whosc
,ittlitnit gazed on the little watering
place which was for a few weeks to
be
„Ids destination, he involuntary
drew rein toid sat silent a moment,
enjoying the moqnlight scene:- On
his left an old-fashiohed .brick house
roared its twisted chimneys aloft. So
close was he to it that its sharp
gables seemed to cut the air over his
-
head, and only a strip of green lawn
bordered by horsechestuut trees, sep
arated him from the windows, gfeam
ing in the moonlight.
s.-opt re and uniwn I'J Clog them (lowa,
If I might—'
lIMMI
Robert, Edbury hushed his song
when he perceived, for the first time,
his very close proximity to the house
and windows.
'loo'7B
" Tie Substantial home of some
substantial farmer," he said to him
self. "I had better move on, or his
daughters may think I am serenad
ing fb e in."' -
Too late! .Just then a window
Was opened softly ovcibead, and a
lady's faee appearred 'at it. In the
rush of bri g ht moonlight :Robert
caught sight of the long ripple of
gold-glean:ling hair, and was sure that
the face was lovely At any rate the
voice was:
=ED
TI,WANDA, PA
" Robert, dear, is it you."
For a minute Itottert Edbury was
mute MO surprise, and made no
InswerJ
••Is' it,' you, Robert. Why dOutt
you speA ?"
lie spoke, then, low, and with hesi
t:ition.. .
Of course I knew it was you."
There was a da-sh of pet ulence in the
sweet voice now. "Who else but
.
you would be - riding and singing in
that absurd way at this.hour of night,
and, halting. before the house: . ! HaVe
you a cold Robert?, Your voice
sounds different from What it usually
does." • -
" Perhaps it is the night air," an
;swered'Robert, wickedly, and getting
his wits partially 'together. "Or I
may have cracked it with singing."
But still he :poke in the most sub
dued of tones. "I did not expect
the pleasure of speaking with you."
" The very Hea.of your coming up
on horseback at this night hour!
You know you ought not tO be out.
Why do you do it? Where are you
going? Jnto Spaticld?"
" To he sure."
" But what for?"
'• To see a friend." -
" Who is it ?", came the quick re
sponse. '"Not—not Nelly 'Cameron ?"
—with a shade of jealousy in the
tone now. "'Are thc Camerons re
ceivin!, this evening . ?"
".NOt. that I know of," returned
'Robert Edbury, promptly. "I swear
to, you I was not going w to see Nelly
I Cameron- I have not; spoken with a
single young lady to-day, except
yourself."
I=l
" Poor Robert !" and a little laugh
rippled s lightly on' the air. "But do
go. 'You
,know what your health is,
and that:you have no business to be
ridinc , at this time of You
will be laid up to-Morrow your voice
already sounds strange and altered.
Good night."
" One moment," cried Robert Ed
bury, earnestly, as he leaped from his
horse, fastened the, bridle to the gilte,
And stepped inside beneath the win
"dow, where gleamed that mysteriOns
enchanting face. "Won't you give
me a flower—you can easily reach
that clustering vine by your case
-1
ment. I'er utp+perhai)s I shall wish
to ask you Some time to forgive Me
'some great ottenie. Won't you: give
me a tiower for a token ?" .
1 ....5123,000
..... 61,000
N. N. BETTS, Castder
" llow7 strangely .' - yon. talk.. Of
course I would give- you. a.. flower;
but these arc only honeystiekles, and
you know we promised to aive each
other nothing but roies. But stay!"
fOrkll.
IF WE KNEW
Wrellaiteons.
•
THE TWO ROBERTS.
‘IIoF did you know it was I ?"
~, . ,
1 ,--____/. 1
l
r
—the pretty voice caught itself.. "I
have a bunch of violets on my table.
Would you like them r
."Anythinganything that comes
from your hands!" whispered Robert,
More sincerely , than he always spoke.
The bright face. disappeared a mo
ment from the window and then .re
turned--a white hand gleamed in the
moonlight.
" There, take them, and now you
must go! Quick ! I hear some one
stirring. Suppose it should be mam
ma! Good night, dear Robert" -
- The window wast,softly Closed, - and
in an instant after Robert was grop-
ing -for the violets in the wet grass.
He found them whe're they fell. But.
as they were falling, the quick eyes of
Robert Edbury had discerned-some
thing, bright as a star, falling 'too.
The small strip of grass where he
had stood was entirely in the shade,
bidden from the light by the large
horsechestuut trees, and he had to
grope in the dark for this glittering
thing. An instant's search revealed
it to he what he suspected—a lady's
bracelet. It was -a slender circlet of
Izold; studded with crystal. ,The
quick movement had unclasped it
from her arm ; and 1186bert with a
.smile, put it side by side with the
withered bunch of violets in his•
pocket' as he rode away.
'"Scejitc . .i and crown I'd fling thou down,''
sang Mr. \ Edbury as he rode swiftly
on in the purple dusk of the trees.
" Sceptre and crown, if I had them,
I'd them down for the one bare.
chance of hearing that lovely voice
once acrain."
He Was 'alone ; there was no one to'
see him; and taking the yiblets'out
of his pocket he kissed them tender
ly. ft was most absurdly silly of
him to do it; but who of us does
not do silly things in the heyday of
our youth's morning? Silly things
that we blush for afterward, perhal,s:
just as Robert Edbury blushed when
putting the violets again quickly
away. .
Se,pt re and nrionii I'd fling than down,
If I might-"
But his song' got no further than
that it; died away in thought.
Bassing arr On-arm down thvi
crowded dancing-room of the Spa
the' next CV - em u:1, with his friend
Norton, Robert 'Edlniry's quick ear
was caught by a note which at once.
arrested his attention. He said tlia't
lie should know that divine
. voiee
again. hear it wherever or 'whenever
he might, and •he was n9t mistaken.
A certain remonstrance lay in its
tone not to say misbelief.
" But who could it have been, Rob
ert, if it' was not you ? It frightens
me to think of it. It—it was some
body of your height and figure. It
must have been yourself, Robert."
" But I tell you it was not, Jessie:
I should like to know who it was."
Ile was a gentleman, I am sure"
_with a stress upon the word. "You
need novbe put out, Robert."
Robert Edbury turned and saw
close beside him, leaning on that
other Robert's arm, a young girl sur
passingly beautiful. Rises mingled
with the bright gold of her hair ;
shone iii the bosom of her dress, and
a bunch of them was somhow inter
twined with the slender gold. wrist
chain attached to her fan.
Ur. Ed bury caught his breath,'-as,,
turning her faceolle girl's soft violet
blue eyes rested for a moment un
reeoffnizingly on his.
" Who is she ?" he whispered eager
ly to his friend. " llow lovely she is!
What is her mini(' ? By heaven !
never believed in divine loveliness
before; but here - it is, pure and un
defiled. What is her name?"
"It is Miss Chassaane," was the
answer. " She "awl her Mother liVe
at th'6 Grove, half . a mile out. of
town.':' .
" A'farm-bouse," remarked Robert
"No it is not. It looks not unlike
one. They are people of property.
Yes. she is very. pretty. I'll intro
duce you if you like."
half an hour later Robert Edbury
was bending over' the young lady's
hand in the pretty secluded gloomof
a vine-wree,hed window. They were
as much alone as it iS, possible- for
one to be in the heart of a busy, un
heedinn. crowd.. The first notes of a
Strauss waltz were beckoning the
dancers, mild gay couples went laugh
ing, hurry lug by.
" You are not engafted tor this
NVISC ?" • said Robert, eagerly.
Some remembered cadence of his
yoiee struck the young girl's mem
ory, and, forgetting 'to ansiter hiM,
she looked at him doubtfully, while
a rosy blush swept over her forehead.
half knew him and half did - not.
•• Will you let nn- look at your .
earl ?" he pursued / ,.as, with perfect
courtesy in his voice and manner, he
took the bit of, gilt and enameled
pasteboard which 'she had tucked
away amid the roses at her wrists.
• I—l half promised thiS dance to
Robert," she stammered, flinging a
quick glance over her shoulder into
the swaying crowd.
" Then I shall claim it," answered
• the other Robert with an audacious
smile. lie stooped said picked up a
rosebud that had fallen, and then
held it triumphantly before the flush
ed and startled face by his side.
" See ! he said gaily •, " I saved
froni being crushedunder foot. Will
you give it to me?"
But she reaehed out her hand jm-
pulsively. "I—l never give roses to
strangers," she replied, with a cold,.
frightened, angry air. "They are
Mr. Robert Stonor's roses. Give it
back tome if Yon please." •
" My name is Robert. too," he 'said,
in the same gayly tender voice,
though Ids dark 'nice, changed a little
at her frank confession. My name
is Robott, too, Miss Chassdane.
Therefore, mny,l not claim the rose?"
The soft-blue eyes, filled withtears,
flew up and met his. She knew him
then. Frightened and ashamed, and
trembling from head to foot, she rose
impulsively to her .feet. .He took a
step backward, and they stood
facing each other in-the gay, unheed
-ing crowd. 1 •
know you now," gasped Jessie.
" IloW - dart.- - you speak to me again—
you are very presuming, Sir: I will
not hear it. Give me back my flower
and leave me."
" Nay," he said gently, but in the
tone of a inater, "is there cause for
anger And in a low, reasoning,
MEI
Ell
TOWANDA, BRADFORD COUNTY, PA THURSDAY MORNING, DEMMER 18, 1879.
perstiasive voice he spoke to her for
some moments,nnil the rising spirit
was calmed. In spite of herself au)
against her will she was becoming
irresistibly attracted to this 'man,
Give me this one waltz, Miss
Ctiassdane, and then 'I will give you
back your rose. 'lt will be a fair ex
change. But mind what I tell.you;
as sure as there is a heaven above ns
the day - is coming when - you will
offerme : a rose unasked. Come."
• The rose-red flush drifted over the
young 'girl's face; his- words, and
more than. his manner impressed
her as he meant they should. He
stood, with proffered arm, courteous
ly still beside her, and, though pro
testing inwardly with all her might
that she would not dance, she gave
him her hand; and in another mo-
meat I they were floating deliciously
together to the strains of the seduc
tive music.
Wheit it was 'over, Robert led her
to her seat near some friends; her
mother had not. gone to the rooms
that night. She looked very pale.
The pretty rose color had all died
out of the sweet round cheeks.
"Are you faint?" he asked anx
iously, bending over her. "Are you
tired? Shall I get you some water?r
" No, no!" she cried, shrinking
away from him. - 4 ‘ I am not faint—
,but look at Mr. Robert Stimor. '1
haVe.offende 1 him. lle is angry
be
cause I danced 'with you. Oh, what
shall I do? lie is' my cousin, and
has ill-health, and he must not be ex
ci ted;''
'Robert Edbury turned, and saw
standing near hin that other Robert,
.who threatened to be or perhaps wag
—no mean His ill-health was
evident. One hand. was pressed to
his side as if to still some pain there,
and on his handsome' blonde face,
which was marked by unnlistakable
traces of. confirmed sickness, a cloud
of jealous anger rested heavily.
The eyes of the two men met, and
each knew the other for a rival.
A half smile of. scorn as he looked
curled Robert Edbury's lips. JO a
case like this a man has no pity for
the ailments of another. With a
graVe face lie took from his pocket
the 'rosebud and laid it in Miss
Ohassdane's
"Mere is your rose; he said, quiet
ly.." I restore it to you at your wish.
But remember what I said ; and be
lieve me, time will prove me to be-no
false prophet."
Without waiting ror an answer, he
bowed and disappeared amid the
throng of dancers, •:$ - Ceking her no
more that night.
"Is Miss Chassdape engaged to
that man ?" he quetioned of his
friend Norton.
" I believe there is no positive en
gagement," was the reply. "Mrs.
Chlss4anc, it is said, objects to.it."
"On what score 'does she object?
Money - ?"
"Oh-no, Stonor has a small, com
pact estate close by, and is well off.
Ofi the score of his uncertain health.
Also, they arc cousins."
" What is it that is the matter
with him ?"
"Some • compliCation, connected
with both the lungs and the heart,
which I conclude, renders treatment
difficult.
"Do you think
cares for him?". •
" I don't think she loves hi.n, Ed
bury—if. that's what you mean.. It
seems to me she likes him more as a
brother. When eligible attentions
are paid to girls; they feel flattered,
you know, and respond accordingly.
Nine out of ten of them • understand
nothing of their own feelings, arid
mistake friendship for love. Robert
:Stonor and 31i4 Chassdane • have
grown up together—have been like
brother and sister."
Frequently they met .after that. It
was an unusually gay season .tt Spa
field, and entertainments abounded
accordingly. In the morning drink
ing the water; or making believe to
drink it; in the afternoon sauntering
in the gardens, or on the parade; in,
the evening at the rooms, or at pri
vate parties; two or three times did
Edbury and .. Miss Chassdane
meat, amid linger . together, and con
verse with each other. Robert Ed-
Lury's time was his own, and he staid
on; Ile could have staid forever.
The two or three weeks' sojourn be
had intended had more than doubled
itself. For he had learned to lOve her
passionately ; and all the world might
see it fol. aught he cared. She, too,
might. see it, if she chose • btt wheth
er she did or not,-he could not tell,
judging from the grave and sweet
dignity with which she met and bore
back his eager attententions.
At length there came an evening
when he was determined to put his
fate to the test ; to go on in this un
certainty was worse than tOrment.
Tlierhad not been much disturbed by
Robert Stonor; a paroxysm of, his
complaint had confined that gentle- '
men to Gis own home.
. And so Robert Edbury wept up to
the old gabled house, before which
his horse had halted that first night,
and . sought •an interview with Miss
Chassdane. She was quite, alone.,
Thelong French Window by which'
she sat was flung wide _open, sand the
low red sunlight, streaming in over
her, lighted up her fair, gold;halr and
the roses in her dress.
" How -beautiful she ! is!" , he
thought as lie took her band in his.
"What if I should not win !her after
all.? But I will make a hard fight
1 for-it."
Jessie looliCd "up inquiringly' into
his face. _ "You are very silent," . she
said; and then, catching the earnest
.•
look in his eyes, she blushed violent•
ly and drew away her hand..
f‘ I love you," he passionately
broke forth in a low, tremulous tone,
breaking his emotional silence. I
have come to you this evening to
risk my fate bysaying this, to win or
lose all. - Jessie, you must know how
I love you ; how I have loved" you
all along, from . that . very first night
that I spoke to you, neither of 119
knowing the - other. Will you not
ive me . some hope of love in return?
Do not send me from you an utterly
broken and diseoumed man!".
!Jessie was silent for a moment—
one long, cruel -
,moment to Robert-
Edbury--then the small, sweet . face
was turned to him with gentle. dig,
1(1 )•-•
1 01
REGARDLESS OF DENUNCIATION FROM ANY QUARTER
Miss Chassdanc
nity. He knew his doom beforehand,
ere she. spoke the words.
" You must know how useless. it
was to speak to me of this," she said.
"You - knew, surely you must have
known, that I was engaged to my
cousin, Robert Stonor."
• "Engaged to him ?"
" Yes. We are engaged."
.Neither spoke for a time. The
scent of the flowers, blooming in the
lovely grounds on 'this side of
.the
house, away from the dusty and b t usy
highway, seemed to mock them with
its. sweetness ; the elusteiing shrubs
and trees waved gently Hi the sum
mer evening breeze. •
He could not speak at. once; the
sense of his bitter loss was too great.
The setting sun streamed in upon
him, lighting up his distressed face.
It seemed to him that the great-old
fashioned clock in the hall ticked out
the words--
' " Lost Itost 1 ! Lost !! !" -;
• .
i l
" Engaged ," he said, at lengtl4
with a longd awn.breatti. "I dicLhot.
know it. 13; t engagements, where
no love is, have been broken off many
times before now!"
" Hush," cried Jessie. "DO not
speak like that again. It would kill
Win! Yon do not know what you
are saying."
"Kill- him!"
"If he heard it, I meant. He
says he trusts me."
"And you are sacrificing yourself
for him !—for 'a fancy ! Hear the
truth, Jessie. You, care not for Mr.
Stonor, except as a cousin or a broth
er. Examine your own heart, and it
will tell you that you do not. You
care fur me. You love nie. Many a
half word, a half look has betrayed
it to me. Yes, my darling, it is Rob
ert Edbilry you have learned to love;
not. Robert •Stonor. Your blushes,
my love, are - betraying it now.
You—"
" What was that ?" shrieked Jessie.
A low, smothered ound, half
groan, half cry, had come in from
the open window. It was so full of.
lain that a man wouldl not care to
hear it twice in a lifetiine. Before
either could rush out Robert StOnor
stood in the opening. • t
It was a figure to be forgot
ten. 'His handsomWir face was dis
torted with either pain or anger ;- his
pale lips trembled ; his left hand was
pressed, with the old familiar ges
ture. unon his- heart.
" False, false that you are," broke
at( length from his bloodless lips, as
he seized Jessie with his right hand,
" You•told me that you did not care
for Robert Edbury 1 You told me—"
A pause, a stagger; and with a
frightful shiver, he fell on the carpet.
Robert Edbury biJoke the fall partial- ,
ly, but was not quick enough to save
him from it: Jessie flew ~ from the
room for assistance. 1-
"Robert Stonor here ?"; cried the
bewildered -, Mrs. Cliass , lane. "I
thought he was confined to his cham
ber at home." .
He had been confined to'his chain- .
ber ; but, alas, he had crept out of it
ri)
that eve ing, and come up to. the
house to *a e Jessie. With the fond
hope of surprising -her in the usual
evening-room, he had'gone round the
shrubbery, intending to enter by the
window, and ha.l beard all. .
On the floor, there as lie lay, his
head i raised on a cushion by the
hands. of Robert . Edbury, he died:
The medical men said fie could not,
in any case, have lived many months,
if weeks, but that the agitation bad
killed him.
it was many long= days. after that,
when she had rtsen from the sick
bed to which this shock of midden
death had lirktught her, that Robert
Edb l ury came to say ,farewell to . Miss
Chassdane.
The interview was brief, studiedly
brio!, for, with the shadow of that
dead man lying betwecii them, speech
wat.ditlicult to both.
"Good-bye," she" cried, reaching
out to him an attenuated baud. "1
hope you may find happiness and
peace !"
" But we shall meet again,' cried
Robert, eagerly. "Surely—surely—
some time in the future I may come
to you.
" Hush !"•she cried, the tears roll
ing piteously down her cheeks
"You must not speak of that. Rob
ert's shadow Would always come be-
tween us, as he fell there on the
floor. We killed him ! We killed
him!" and she wrung her pale hands
together in strong excitement.
" Stop!" said Robert Fdbury,
quite sternly. " You are taking an
altogether mistaken view of the
truth. Ask your mother; ask any
one. But Yon_are weak and ill yet,
,Jessie, and the tinre has not come
fOr ►ne to insist bn this. Let us think
of him, poor fellow. as one who must,
had lie lived, have suffered much,
and who has mercifully -found peace
in the. rest Of death"
lie stood for a moment looping
with a fond longing into the small,
sweet face from which the summer
roses had fled with grudging 'haste.
Then taking from his pocket a frag :
ile of gold .and crystal circlet, he held
it out to her. -it was the bracelet
she lost that first night of their meet
ing.
I found it under Sour window
that night with the-violets,",he said.
"It fell from your arm. 'Will you
take it back now ?"
. _
A faint lovely tinge of red flicker
ed into her cheeks once more.
"No!" she answered, looking into
his dark face with tender, gentle
wistfulness—"l—l don't wan't to
recall that night, or anything con
nected with it. You may keep it if
you like." -
So he kissed her hand 'and said
farelell. But he left a whisper be
hind him.
•' When the roses blooin again, re
member me."
. A year went by, and 'no message
came. The second year he said to
himself. ." Surely, she will, send for
me now!' But May and June crept
by, and July came.; but not one word
came frome. Jessie ChassdanC. lie
was.g,rowing sick with a wild and
helpless, , despair, for .he felt ho 7:
worse and useless it would be to gO,
uncalled; !when one day. a letter
came fluttering like a.whitc bird to
his hea4. .
"The roses are in bloom and there
is one for you!"— Tee Argosy.
Desponding ChOstians.
-" Children - of. the king" are some
times subject to blue devils. To ex
orcise this is the object of the follow
ing, taken from the Northwestern
Christian' Advocate i .
"It would be well-for all who are
given to despondency to ask them - -
.selves :and endeaVor to give brief,
sharp answers to the question of the
Psalmist: ' Why art thou cast down,
0 my soul ?' Many, doubtless, would
be able to refer their depression to
real troubles—ill-health,bereavement,
want, business, or other disasters ;
but
.the majority would find that they
have no real reason outside of t4em
selves for their despondency; that it
arises from vague and undefinable
fears, from imaginary troubles, or
from the anticipation of evil; and
that the source.of it all is a sinful
distrust of that ever-watchrul divine
providence which notes the fall of a
sparrow, numbers even the hairs.
our heads, and constantly guards
and keeps us.
" The chief source of despondency
is foreboding--nseless worrying about
the future. Men suffer more in an
tipipation of evil than they do from
tWe actual misfortunes of life. -And.
yet, in nine eases bout. Of ten, our
fears about to-morrow are ground
less. Very few of the sorrows we
hare apprehended have ever reached
us;
and those which havl come' upon
us have always been lighter than we
feared, and proved to be less painful
to bear in actual experience than the
anticipation of them. When we look
at a dark place . it seems very black,
but when we are in it there is usually
some light. God sends .no unmiti
gated sorro*; every triaLcomes with
its ifThviating circumstances He
tempers the wind to the shorn lamb;'
.or, if He doe 4 not wake the Suffering
less, makes us stronger to bear it.
As thy days, so shall thy strength
IT.' Ile smooths fur us the roughest
road ; and we enter upon it with the
assurance that 1.1.e,is with us always,
and that Ilk grace is sufficient for
Us. In every form of sorrow, God
draws *near to the stricken spirit; and
offers His own joy-giving piesence in'
.pl'ace of the blessings taken; and'
many of the afflicted have hid in
their. severest trials far deeper and
more heart-swelling' views of the di
vine love than they ever had in their
seasonS' . Of gladness. But if we bor
row trouble, we seize the cup in its
-untempered bitterness before the
time has come for the infusion of
what mays sweeten, bless, and.sancti
--
f • it.'
"The habit of taking desponding
views of the future is utterly useless
—and-worse, foolish and hurtful... It
does no good, has no tendency' to
avert evils, but • may hasten them by
paritlyzing the energies, and so pre=
venting the effort necessary to ward
off disaster. Under Providence,there
are many evils which it is within our
own power to - eitUr avert entirely,
or modify by a cheerful, hopeful
spirit, which is apt . to see a way out
of present or impending difficulties.
,But the forebbding,desponding:spirit
sits diyivn in disco - nragement,. and
dyes nottiing to reilnetly present or
prevent future calamities.
,llespon4-
ency often fulfills its own dlsmal
prophecies, while the: courageous, -
-hopeful soul is able to wiing profit
out of disaster and victory out. of
defeat.
°• The hest cure for despondency
s that of the Psalmist : .‘ Hope thou
n God.' Our own efforts may Flo
nuch to correct our 'weakness and
le,zsen the evils we cannot avert, but
w•e need also the gree of God and
the inspiration of hope- in Him to
support 'us. An unknown future lies
hefdre us.. There hair's: over it a
veil which no man can lift. We know
not what trials lie liefore'us, • and it
is is a blessing'that we do not. God,
in His wisdom and goodness, con
ceals them from us, and we ought to
acquiesce;; thankfully in His arrange
ment, knowing that the future is in
His hand who doeth all things well,
and that eareth for us.' That
single truth—God eareth for you—
heartily believed will quiet. fear, re
move despOndency, and make the
; spirit peaceful and hopeftil. If the
great and good God is watehiqg over
us day anci night, surely.wt'ought
not to be distressed about the future.
Let us, then, hope in God, and rest
from endue anxiety=, in the assurance
that He vlio never slumbers nor
sleeps, who faintetli not, ?wither" is
weary, will care for" us, anil make all
things work together for goad to
them that love Him.
" The prospect of° a better and en
during inheritance in heaven should
exclude despondency. Ho we Ver
heavy our outward burdewf and sor
rows, if we have Christ within, the
hope of glory, we have the, t best ci
reasons for joy, and, if ive-db not re-
Doice, may Well exclaim in self-rebuke:
• Why art thou cast down 0 my soul?
And why art than disquieted within
me? Hope thou in God ; ! 6r I shall
yet. praise - Him who is the health of
nri countenance and my God.' •llow
brief the longest space which earthly
trials cover !. How short the period
during which changes can come !
How, in comparison with eternity
and its ever-growing joy; does all
that flesh and heart can Bear, on this
side of the grave, shrink into utter
nothingness!' St. Paul , said : 'For
I reckon that the sufferings of this
present time, .are not worthy to be
compared with the glory that shall
be tevealed in us.' And this inheri
tam% above is revealed, that faith
may. use it here—ghat hope may
bridge over . the . few doubtful years
that remain with an arch that- shall
repose at once on a past full of mercy
and on a heaven where all -is sure,
cloukiless, and eternal.'"
LAVENDER went down to the beach the
other day, and while he was • eating l ihis
dinner in that 'spacious, airy dining-room,
looking out over the water, he observed' a
mother and her "young hopeful" seated
near him at the table and eating wilt ro
bust appetite. Pretty soon the boy took
a drink of water, when his mother arrest
'ed his hand at-d'said with , surprise and
reproach : "Why, Johnny !' what makes
you ! ? 'We pay4dollar for our dinner, and
water's so very tMin'." • ,
"GEonar- has had *a great many pull
backs in life," mid the young wife to liar
lady friend. And when . the friend sail
"Yes, I saw him with one ye; - *day."
the young wife didn't know , she
meant by it.
rp LI rtic4r.
THE DREAMLAND SEA
What matter though my pilgrim feet
May never press the etnutgers land,
Or wander lone where wild waves beat
With ceaseless moan on ocesu's strand ?
For me erpands a lovelier deep,
W hese Isles In visioned beauty sleep,
And never ocean waves could be
So bright as ,blue, fair Dreamland Sea,
My castle ctinvlts the boldest steep,
By warring winds and wateursrarred,
That seaward leans, and o'er the deep,
Keeps evermore unceasing ward.
Full-freighted, with their winds of snows,
The white ships come, the white ships go,
While in the shade of cliff and towers .
I dream away the gliding hotirs.
With manes foam-flockildAnd tossing free,
The waves, wild coursers of the sea,
Race swiftly to the level strand;
And struggling die upon the sand.
The shells that sparkle at my feet,
Strange taPA of wind and wave, , repeat;
The weird romance, the Mystery
Of the dark caverns of the sea. t
My fairy fleet that long has lain
Close moored In some enchanted bay,
Borne by fair gales across the main,
Sails swiftly on Its hoMeward way.
My ships, my stately ships I see!
Full many a royal argosle,
Like white-winged birds they speeding come
And bring their gathered treasures home.
Pearls from the Inerma'crs watery cell,
• •Pure gold frojn sunny orient lands,
With many a resy 7 chautbered cell
And Jewel wrought by elfin hands;
Crosses and amulets of price r
•
Of.sandarwonti and saeted palm,
Embossed with many a fair device,
And odorous with tropic balm.
t —ff. B. if. to .DonarNtic ..lbouthly
THE BLACKSMITH.
Translated From the French of Emile Zola
The blacksmith was a tall man, the
tallest iii the district, his shoulders
knotty, his face and arms blackened
by r the tlames_of the forge and the
iron dust of the hammers. Ile bad
in his square-built skull, beneath hiS
dense thicket Of hair, great infantile
blue eyes, bright as steel. -His large
jaw rolled with, laughter, with the
sounds of his sonorous breath, like
the respiration and gigantic gayeties
of his -bellows ; and, when he lifted
his arms,' wall a gesture 'of satisfied
power—a gesture which toil at the
anvil had made habitual with him—
he• seeined4 to carry his fifty year'S
even niore4 briskly than he raised
" La Demoiselle," a mass -weighing •
twenty-Elie pounds, a terrible lass
whom he alone could have made to
dance from Vernon to Rouen.
I lived a year at the blacksmith'S ;
a whole year of convalescence. I
hadlost, my heart„, lost my brain. I
had departed, going. straight befbre
roc, searching, searching for a corner
of peace and work in which I could
recover my manhood. , ThuS it was
that one evening, upon the high Way;
after having passed beyond the vi 4
lage, I perceived the forge, isolated;
flaming, planted, side-wise at the
cross of Quatre-Chemius. The light
ras.such that the 'door for the pas-
Sage of carts,! wide open, reddened
the-cross-roads, and that the poplars,
ranged in front of it, along the ditch,
4indked like torches. In the distance;
- .
amid the softness of twilight, the
cadence of the hammers sounded for
•
half a league, like the gallop,' al):
proachina nearer and_nearer, of some
regiment of iron. Then, there, be-.
neath the gaping door, in the bright
ness, in the uproar, in the shock of
that thunder, I paused, happy, con
soled already; to witness that toil, to
see those manly hands twist and flat-,
ten the red bars.
I saw, that autumn evening, the
blacksmith for the first time. He
was shaping a ploughshare. - With
shirt open, showing his rugged breast,
-where tlut ribs at each breath marked
the carca . s of prdved metal, he_ bent
backward, made a spring, brought
down the hammer, and that, without
a panne, vith an easyand continuous'
balancing of the body, with an im
placable exercise of the muscles.
The hammer turned in a regular cir
cle, bearing away sparks, leaving
behind it a flash. It was "La Dc.
moiselle," to whom the blacksmith
thus gave motion with both hands,
while his son, a jolly young fellow of .
'twenty, held, the flaming iron at the'
'end of the pineerS and rapped in his
turn, rapped hollow blows which the
glorious dance of the old inan's terri.:
Ole lass stifled. Toe,
toe-toe, toe.
One might have called' itr the grave
voice Of a mother encouraging the
first Iblpings of an invant.' Ca Be- ,
! miscue " waltzed • constantly, shak
ing the spangles of her robe, leaving .
the marks of her heels in the plough
share she was fashioning, each time
She rebOunded upon the anvil: A
blood-red flame flowed to the ground,
lighting up the salient angles of the
two -workmen, whose gigantic shad
ows stretched away into the sombre
and indistinctlortierS of the forge.
- Little by little the fire paled, - the
blacksmith.. abated his atlas., Ile
stood there, black, leaning upon the
handle of the hammer, with sweaton
his brow that he did not wipe off. I
heard the having of his yet agitated
sides, amid the roar of the bellows
which his son was working with a
'slow hand.
That night I slept at the black
smith's;-and did not idepart again.
He had a chamber free, upstairs, over
the forge, which he offered me and :I
accepted.' From five o'clock, before
day, I entered into the labor of ray
host. I awoke amid the laughter of .
the entire household,,which kept it
self going briskly until night by dint
of its own enormous gayety. Be
neath me the hammers danced. It
iseemed that "La Henniiselle" hurled
me out of bed, rapping upon the ceil
ing, calling me a sluggard. All the
poor chamber, with its tall clothes
pre::s, its table of white wood, its
two chairs, cracked, called upon the
to hasten. And I was forced to dh
scend. Below I found the forge
already glowing. The bellows roar;
ed, a blue and pink flame arose-from
the charcoal, amid which a spot as
round as a star seemed to gliaten+,.
beneath the blast .which dug into tj)e.
burning mass. Meanwhile, the black
smith was preparing the work of the
day. -lle rattled iron in the corners,
turned over ploughs,examined wheels.
When .he perceived ,n 4, he put his
fists to his. sides, the worthy man,
and 'labeled, his mouth stretching
almost to his ears. It amused him
to have dislodged me froni• bed ;• at
Ilveio'clock. I believe that lie pound-
ed for the sake of pounding, in the
morning, to give the signal of .a*ak-
MEI
81.0 C/ per Annum In Advance.
ening with the formidable chime of
his hatainers. He placed his big . _
hands on my shoulders, bent .down
as if he were talking ton child, as he
said td me that I 'was much better
since I had lived amid his rusty iron;
and every day we. took
~white wine
together upon the bottom of an- old
over-turned cart. • •
Then_often I passed My day at the
forge. In winter, -especially in rainy
weather, I spent all my hours there.
I interested' myself in the work.. the
continuous struggle; between -the
blacksmith and Itke rough iron, which
he shaped to hieliking, impressed
me •as. some pOwerfulArama. I fOl
lowed-the metal limn the furnace to
the anvil ; I was .perpeturilly
prised 'to see it bend, stretch out,
roll, like soft wax, beneath the 3.7ieto
riot's effort of the workman: When
the plough was 'finished I kneeled
before it; I no longer-recognized the
shapeless eginning of the. day-pre
ceding; , r examined the pieces,
dreaming. that fingers rnajestit
strong had seized and fashioned them
thus without the aid of fire: . some;
'times I 'smiled as I thought of a
young. girl whom I had perceived in
the.-past 7 during entire days, opposite
my window, twisting with her weak
hands' stem& of brass wire, upon
which she attached, with the aid ot a
silken thread,. artificial violets.
Sever did the blacksmith complain.
I have seen him, after having beaten
the iron throughout days of fourteen
hours, laugh - his hearty laugh in the
,evening, as he rubbed his arms with
a satisfied air." lie was never sad,
never weary,. Ile could have 'sus
tained the honk upon his shoulder,
if the house.had crumbled:. In win
ter, he said that it wab comfortable
in hi& forge. ln .summer,-he opened
the. door,to its widest' extent, and
allowed the odor of the hay to enter.
When the summer waned, at the
close of the day, I seated myself ,be
side him,,before the door. We were
on one side . ; wee - saw from e there all
the stretch 'of the valley. He was
delighted . with this immense carpet
of cultivated lands, which lost' itself
at the horizon in thepure lilac of
twilight.
And often - the blacksmith-joked.
He said- that all these lands belonged
to him, that' the forge, for .morothan
two hundred years, • had ' furnished
ploughs for the-hole country - round.
This was hiS ~Not a crop
could grow - Without lain. - If the
plain ivas green' in May andyellow
in July, it owed to, him that chang
ing silk. Ile s loved the harvests as
his daughters, delighted by the glow
ing sun, lifting ' - his fist against the
bursting hail clouds. Frequently he
showed me in the distance some
scrag, of groUnd which seemed small
-or than the back of his N est, and told
me in what year he had shaped a
plough for.that square of oats or of
rye. At the, liOur of labor he some- -
- times quitted his hammers; he went
to the edge of.- the road ; • with his
hand above his - eyes, he ghzed. - lie
saw the numerous faMily of -his
ploughs bite the soil, triice their
_fur
rows, in the middle, Weft, to right.
The .whole valley was,. full of them.
One mightlavesaid,to see the horses
file slowly away, that regiments ,of
them were on the march. The plough
sharers shone in the - sun with silvery
reflections. And he, lifting his arms,
called me, •cried out to me, to come
and see what . "-sacred work" they
were doing. • , - _
All the. resounding - metal, which'
clanged below nle, put iron in my
blood.. .That was worth more to me
than apothecary's drugs. grew ac
customed-to the. noise; I had need .
of , the music of the hammers Upon
the anvil to understand th:it - I lived.
In my chamber, animated throughout
by the roaring of the bellows, I re-_
covered my - poor head. Toe, toc—
toe, 1,6 c. It was like. a joyous bal
anceLwheel, which regulated my hours
of toil. In the. heat of his work,
when the blacksmith struck with a
will, and I heard the red iron crack
beneath the blows of the mad ham
mers, had the fever o r a' ! •giant in
my wrists; I wished to flatten out
the world with a stroke of my pen.
Then; when the forge grew still, 'all
was silence in my' 'hrain ; I went
d'nwn stairs and was ashamed of my;
vocation when I saw the host of
metal compered and.lsmoking yet.
Ah ! how, superb have I seen the
blacksmith, sometimes, :during the
hot afternoons 1 - Nude - 6 the waist,
his inuseles jutting out and stretched,
like one of Michael Angelo's : talf fig
ures looming up in a supreme effort.
1 1 found, as 1. gazed lit him, the mod
ern 'setili - Aural line,iwhich our artist's
toilsomely seare.h kir among- the-dead
oFG,reece. : He seemed to me. - like the
matured 'herd of labor, the unwearied
child. of this country, beating inces-
santlS; upon the anvil the instrument
of our analysis, fashioning in fire and.
iron the society of to-morrow. Ile
played with his hammers ' When lie
Wished to hiugh he grasped " La Dx!-
moiselle," , and; with all his strength,
he struck. Then thunder rolled about
him, in the pink panting of the.fur
nace, and I thought I heard the, sigh
of the people at their toil.
It was there, in the forge, amid the
ploughs, that Loured myself forever
of idleness and doubt.—Philadelphifi
Times. •
JunuE to Mendicant - whom another
mendicant has had arrested - . for .assault
and battery—What made you beat this
paralyzed man, yoUr companion in mis
ery, eh? Mendicant—l'll tell you, Your
llonor. For a Whole month 1 drew him
around in our little Cart, we beim , 's part
tiers, and o
then, 'when, .a_ording to our
articles of partnership, it' was liis turn to
draw me around for a month; and mine
to be the paralStic, ho refused to fulfil
,hls eintract: , •
A . GENTLEITAN sent his Irish servant up
to his room fora pair of boots, - and-at the
same-time told - liim to be sure and gct
mate, as there lwere two pairs in the clo
set. 'Patrick returned with two bootS,
but odd ones. - 1 " Why, don't you see that
these are not-alike—one is a lou : top sad"
`the other a stied' one?" said the gentle
man out - of patience with the "fellow.
"BeClad, your honor," said Patin apolo
gy, "and it's true - for ye, bitt• - thin the
other - Pair was just so, too !"
• BALD-11 ADED men have at last filcul a
champion i the person of the inventor of
the fly-disp• . or. It consists of a wire
frame made to fit the head of any.person.
Inside the frame is - a .sct of wheels and
springs similar to those in a clock; then
there are live fans. which, when set at
work, revolve rapidl.:, not only causing a
cool breeze, * but driving away the . tiles.
-TPIn Gains was what you call a.
swift witness.. When Tom was for a'
feller he was for him all over, and he • •
was so friendly and confiding the
Judge didn't know what to do with
him. Last court Lawyer Branham
put Tom upon the stand to prove - -
that a drinking mgn couldn't remem-,
bet what he did when he .was drunk.
Tom had ( taken about ~two drams
that morn i ng and was fdeling splen-,
did. Ile swore straight out that ftei
coydn't.
• he Judge didn't like that. Re
di n't like witnesses who were so
willing and familiar, and - so he put a
few questions to Tom from the bench.,
" Mr.
.Gains, weren't you drunk
yesterday [Sunday] ?"
" They say I was, your Honor:"
" And
.you don't remember it?"
"It's sorter like it (Wan), your• .
Honor ; but I do remember I was
awfully sick last night;"
" How are you now. Mr. Gains?"
".I am tolable well,- I thank you, .
Judge'; hoW do you do`Yourself?'
and Torn bowed humbly, for he -
thought the Judge was -kindly in
quiring after his healt.A. -
When the Sheriff had quieted the
general hilarity, the Judge said:
" Mr. Gains, you were drunk yester- -
day, Which was Sunday : sow, wheie
did you find your-Whisky'?"
"In the jug, Judge—right in the - -
1,
IMM
NUMBER 29
Jug.
1.4
Woll,•sir, where was
" UndCr - the fodder-stack, Judge ;
I always .keep it there, or in the
shuck pen;. and, if your honor ever 'f
pasSes that way, it's a free thing
to,"
Mr. Gains, you can retlig, sir.. I
believe. you •are the same man who
about thirty years ago testified* in
•this court-house that 4im Williams
bit his own
say
" They say I did, Jtidge ; but you
know I Was drunk, and of course 'I
don't remember it. You was defendin'
Jaelijloozer for biting off Jim - ',WII-.
kinS' ear, 'and you,told me that in.: .
the' scrimmage Jac7.shoved4im up.'
agin the sharp edge of the door and -
the idoor out it .off; but
_you see; .
Judge, I got drurik and forgot what
you told me t- and I s'pose I did -
swear - that Williams bit his ear oil.
himself;- and it wasn't. so onteasona-•
lilt n'ohow, for he'had:the awfullest
mouth thtit_ever was.seed—didn't he; .
Jud! - Yi: ?" . • ; •
"JI-r. Gains, 'told you to sit down,
sir. Mr. Sheriff,2 give mejlie names
of . those . gentlemen who are so hilari
ous ; see ill can't stop.their mer
riment. Brother_ Branham, put up
your nest witness:—.Free ?revs. •
A princess of Tru4sia at one. time --
received: a - stoat antique ring from
her- goi-erness fors present. About.
- -
a year - after,the occureence the court
received it visit from the Gr4'l(l:Duke
Alexander, end Who, at
. that time,,
was not the liefr-expeptant of the
'crown. The grand duke saw the
prince's's, and with the quick resolve
native to his disposition immediately
determiyed to ask her in - marriage:
One day,••as he was seated by hert
si,le at the, royal dinner-table, hel
spike to her of ,his forthcoming de
parture, adding. 014
. it depended
upon !-her 'whether or"tiot 'fris_stay in
Berlin; should be prolonged..
" What shall ..I do, then to
influ
ence your intentions ??' was4he reply
of the smiling princess:
The Swift Witness.
;
'Romance of a Ring.
Nicholas,: the . brother of the emperor
4 ` rou must not refuse to receive
my addresses," immediately returned
the outspbken :Nicholas: _ •
t` lou ask much.'?
"..I. ask, even more. You ought to
giVe me some encouragement in MY
en - deavors to please you."
That is still moreidillicuit. Be•
sides, the moment is not well choSeit
for a- favor."
"'I beg your royal highness to give
me a sign that Tam not- totally indif
ferent to you. You have - a little ring
on y=our finger, the: - possession of
which would render me. happy.. I
beseech yoa to give - me the ring."
"'Wh'at! give the ring at the din- .
nevtable, and in the presence. of all
these people ?" -
Let. me see—press it into this •
piece of bread and gi%e it to. ine." .
And press the rinck; into a piece of--;
bread she did,. and gave it to the fu- 1
ture emperor. NieholaStOok'an early
opportunity to leavelthe halLand on
exhuming the treasuie from its whea
ten tomb discovered an
_inseription
on the inner side in French, and -run..:
nine to the .following effect :." L' Int
)(;rat rice (le la Ilttssie."
He is said to have worn the keep
sake for;:the . rest - of his days; attached
to a chaiu round his neck, the iing
being too small of- course for any of
his colossal fingers. The fliture em
preks, seems, had.been unconseious
ly wearing for some time the emblem
of- her future greatness, .-
Fact and Facetim.
is evident that the - earth is feminine.
'from the persistency with which
.46e re
fuses to tell her age.—Titusrilic-ifferald.
- . ,
A WISCONSIN City; in-Order - to' avoid
rkaptial's in its girl's schdols,. has,decided-
th the leading teachers.shall be 'women.
i
T t
ey want principles, not men. , .
Mus. 11..kvEs objects to Ler husband's
investigating, Mormonism._ . She thinks
Rutherford is well-meaning, fond .of his
family,..and not inclined to cut up,
-but.:
therelis nO telling .what notions a man I
may gef.—Baltimore Netts. _•• 1
' TUEY were . di/MI on the Jersey . beach
the-other nay, and had a falling out about
clams or politics, we can't say which. At.
lem,th Ned was so aggrieved that he said,
in a threatening lone : " Now, „Barney, ;
.git I" And Bar,negat.
. SMALL boy to his :maternal relative!
"Mamma, I should think that if I
_was
made
- of dust; .1 would get muddy' inside
when -I drink." : Quite right, S. 8., quite
right ; and if you drink .too much; you
may fall doWn• and get muddy outside,
too." - . .
A MAN gets mad on being told that - be
has a cheek of brass ;.but a woinaiiiimiles
sweetly whenever informed that she has
a broW of marble, a neck, of alabaster,
and irps of coral. This difference in the
disposition of the sexes is no doubt owing
tai woman's superior fortitude.
Two-Meriden men are in trouble over
the:ownership of a ladder, and are taking
steps for a .lawsuit: The real*, of this
will be that,one lawyer will
,get the sides
and the'other lawyer will get the rounds,-
leaving thelholes to the. litigants.—Dan
bury News.
NELANcuorsrbarber (with soul above
his business)—" I don't get •much of \ll
livin' by it, Ai!"
Customer (through the lather) —" Then
you ought for you scrape—hard
enough-44'6r it !"—Punch.!
Ir.rathert disturbs the unities for alov-
er to hear his girl talk".about "ethereal
ized friendshiti,"' "the gossamer wings of .
love," " tlie thin and piumeable texture
of affection„" and all that sort of thing,
and then see Aer sit down and eat . a big
piece of roast beef, four biscuits, and an ` r
apple pie.—Steubenville Herald.
• ,
CuA r nt.hy : "What girl was .that you
had in' tow last evening, Harry'?" harry
(on his dignity). " What you ;please to'
call tow, sir, is What . people of culture.:
generally speak of as blonde tresses, sir."
Woes off in a huff. while Charley w,his-,
tics in a IoW key, his eyebniw curved like
the back of au enraged cat).—BoBpa
Transeript. .
=I