HomeMy WebLinkAboutLucknow Sentinel, 1892-09-09, Page 2see
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a
onsaa's Mind Superior to Mater ?
omani's mind is more refined'
f baser man,
Lwin `.tter fit
' To do the things xtlfl can.
' But can you find an equal mind
To Solomon the greati
--ea To Milton, Shakspeare, By -ton,
Or those of later date?
Among those of the fairer sex,
Among the gentler race,
Can you find surpassing genius
L. As history's page you tracer
o Who have been the leading ones
In times now past and gone—
• ...To Monarchs of mind and intellect,
Since history's early dawn?
Did woman write the finest poems,
• Or sketch the fairest scenes/
Dia she build the towers of Europe.
• 'Oross the sea whichkiiPsgekles
Did she build the nighty ships
Which float the ocean o'er ?
• Or stretch gigiaatic cable wires,
Connoting shore with shore?
Did she war against Napoleon,
-oo Wholed destruction's train
;q Or check,that famous warrior
IX his mighty deeds of shame?
Has she built the iron bridge.
Orforged the rails of steel ?
l.r.• Or made the mighty iron horse,
1.;,•1,,, Or cast the driving wheel?
Did she invent electric wires
To light our towns at night,
Or stretch the t-lephone to speak
To those far out of sight ?
Profoundly I honor womanhood,
The light and joy of home.
All honor to a noble mother!
I love her where'er I roam.
But I cannot see that woman's mind
At all surpasses man.
It may be equal, but no more—
Now prove it if you can.
I would not slight a woman—No!
The light and joy of life!
If I ever marry, is time to come,
A woman shall be my wife !
YOUNG.
DORIS AND
A
It was eearly dusk when I arrived at the
cottage ; and- as I turned for a !eat look at
the burnished hills a bat came between me
and the light fluttered mockingly before
me. But I kissed my rose and laughed at
the flettermouse.
I had lived some twenty-five years in the
world without knowing much more of it
than what our valley and its neighborhood
had to show; so that what I saw on my
long journey to my uncle's Canadian farm
made um wonder and. marvel, as
young people do when they go out for
the first time beyond the mountains and
see what is there. But there is no need
to dwell upon that; and moreover, it
doesn't. concern the drift of what I am
telling you.
Nor need I say much about the . farm
and personal estate which had come to
me by my uncle's will I found that the
latter came to some $80,000, chiefly in-
vested in Northern Pacific, and other stock,
and the former a large tract of prairie
land, with house, farm buildings and
appointment of a first-class property.
There was a new railway creeping up,
which would double its value in a few
years' time; and it was for me to say,
after I had seen the place, whether I should
let it or wait, or sell it right out. I wrote
the lawyer, saying for the present .I would
take it in hand till the corn was safely har-
vested.
So one thing leads on to another, and we
prepare our own destiny without
it. But I had looked at things in a prac-
tical way and according to my lights; and
the notary commended me, and Doris sent
a letter along saying : " Yes, Jack ; but
don't tarry the thrashing, too," which was
only sweetheart -like.
Theweeks passed on, and I found plenty
to occupy and interest me, as was naturaL
One August morning I rode to the Post -
office for the usual weekly letter. I always
rode over because the postboy who pulsed
on his way to the settlement waited for the
second mail at noon. I met Mr. Henehaw
at the door of the office, with two /etterie
and a newspaper in his hands.
" Mornin' Mr. Sedley," said he ; "lot o'
letters this niail ; let me hold the cob till
you come out."
That was the beginning of it—there was
no letter. I rejoined Henshaw and walked
down with him to his store, heavy with dill-
appoiiitment.
• Like to see the paper?" said he, as I
was leaving, after ordering some supplies of
his man. " 'Tain't often I get one, but my
brother's hayricks 'a bin blazin', an' he's
sent the account of it. All new hay, too,
an' on'y part-insnred. Ain't it a pity ?"
eI said it was, and looked moodily through
the columns for news that might intereat
me. I only learned that there had been a
regatta at Evesham, and that our old
doctor at Ranaton had sold his practice to
a Dr. Robson—that was all. But as I rode
home I kept muttering that doctor's name
wondering where I had heard it 'before,' till
suddenly it came to 'me, bringing e lot of
something else with it.
Why had Doris never mentioned him be-
yondthe postscript in her first letter,
weeks ago? I had clean forgotten she had
a cousin Stephen, so little did I heed him,
but he was still at Ranaton ; still, perhaps
.sn inmate of her home. -•Wy — Here I
dropped the reins and drew out her last
letter to steady me. I read it through and
the dear words brought kindliness back,
and I kissed her name at the end, saying
some one was a fool.
But the doubt had found entrance and
grew, as cancers do, without her knowing
it. For the days went on,
and no letter
came,' no sign, till I grew half -wild at the
cruelty of it. I wrote, reproaching her ;
and another week went and another. At
last the letter came. The postboy handed
it to me as I stood at the gate. 1 dare say
he wondered why I was always there—and
I ripped it open, when my heart pumped
fit to break itself. Then the paper
dropped from my hands and I held on to
the gate with a singing in my ears and a
sudden weakness in seeing which darkened
the sun and all beneath it. * *
Doris unfaithful—it wasn't naturaL Our
souls had grafted and we were one ; we
were two streams that had met to turn the
same millwheel together; oar hearth were
bound with ligamentsof thir own growing;
there was no undoing what nature had so
willed. . Yet there was her handwriting, her
own words in good black ink telling white
it was a liar.
Then,
all at once, through the rush and
swirl ofit, came the thought of the new
doctor, and a queer coldness went through
me as if I had been turned to clay before
I knew Doris such imaginings had never my time. The light seemed to go out from
troubled me, but when I had met, her at i me, and I could scarcely move my feet as,'
Winchcomb flower show love had touched half -staggering, I went indoor and dropped
me with its wand, and all of a sadden the into a chair. Again I read the note, though
dead wall of my life,
like that in Chancier's every cursed word was burning in my brain
" Romannt"—for Ihad read a thing or two forever.
in the long winter nights before the old I "I cannot marry you, dear—it is impossi-
thing had been hammered into other kende ble. I like you—I am fond Of you, as I
'CHAPTER L •
There was evil in front of us, and much
aching of hearts and suffering. But the
throetle sang in the sycamore tree, and the
swallows curved and twittered all about II%
and in the rich amber light we could see
that all was fair and good; then oar eyes
would meet, and we thought not of evil,
Doris and I. We spoke little, our hearts
being very full and words mere idleness.
Doris looked out again to the west, leaning
her head against me, and taking my hand
as it twined over her shoulder. We were
in the orchard by the old green tree
wicket, where a month ago, before the
blossoms had burst their bulbs, she
had allowed me to tell her an
old tele, and had said one word of her own
to give it finish. And as the throstle sang
his love song, and sanktohis bed behind the
hills, I thought of tben and now, and my
head lowered and I kissed her forehead
gently. Then Doris sighed as if a spell
was broken. For I had come to tidied my
windfall; that I was no longer a poor man ;
that, instead of waiting for years, we might
begin our married life on our return to
Canada in three months or so ; and the sud-
den happiness of the thing had wrapt us
round and silenced us both. Now that the
first flush of it was over, we remembered the
fleeting minutes, and fell to talking. What
we said is of no account here; but so little
did we dream of harm or accident of nature
to cross our happiness, that not once did
we mention him, though we knew he was
coming next day, to stay, perhaps, for
weeks, as sick people do.
Then we said good-bye, and I opened the
wicket to pass through; but, seeing the
wet in her eyes lingered a while longer till
she was smiling again, when I let her go.
But I looked back every dozen yards or so ;
and when I got across the second meadow
and stood by the stile before vaulting into
the high road, I could see the straight
white figure among the green and the wav-
ing handkerchief. So I asked God to keep
her, and went my way with the rose she
had given me. Walking home in the twi-
light the heaviness at leaving her wore off
as I looked into the future and saw what
was there, or rather what I pictured in it.
For when love is the warp and fortune the
woof, what will not the shuttle of fancy do?
Yesterday things had been so different.
Of all my airy castles there seemed hardly
one left, and I had built a good few. Before
pulled up, half an hour later, at the gate
he was mending" just ae. ift aarn'a
yel-
lowin' for the machines. Sunainat wrong?
Yon look kinder hit—hope tain't aerioua"
He 'wiped his face, looking hard at mine,
which I turned away, feeling it was a tell-
tale.
" You won't be &lone long," I went on.
" My father is on his way, and will take
possession of the farm and see to things in
my absence. I have asked him to keep you
on, Boss, and I think you'll find him a good
soit. Good-bye. See you again some day
when I've found what I want." I glanced
down at his furrowed face and saw kindness
in it.
" Lost summetgaffer ?" said he, and I
could feel the sejrch of his look. lie was a
shrewd man, twice my age, and may have
noticed many things since we had been to-
gether.
" Ay, I've lost something," I answered,
" but it's not that I'm after, Boas. No use
hunting for broken bubbles, I take it."
" No %%int," drawled Boss, " but what-
ever you're after, it'll tek some findin', I
guess, and you may scour the world up and
.down an' find it in yourself when all's done.
Have a good knock round, gaffer, an' when
it's all burnt out come back again and niek
friends wi' things."
I could see his outstretched hand, and
mine went to it involuntarily.
"Slang, gaffer," was all I heard as the
horse leaped away with me down the rough
track.
" So long," I said to the hot silence and
the western solitude, where I had dreamed
my dreams awhile, tolerant of the slimmer
loneliness as long as I could people it with
fancy and see Doris and good company
beyond it. But to remain there with my
dead hopes all about me, grinning like
marionettes which love had made caper,
deluded by its own magic; to live on
through the long monotonous heat with no
opposite shore for the bridge of thought to
touch, with no future but a fogbank where
had been a fair country. No, I could not.
CHAPTER IL
I need not dwell on that period:; it lies
in my memory more like a hideous dream
than so many weeks and months of actual
life, and, like a dream, there are only por-
tions of it which stand out from the shad-
ows — adventures, incidents, scraps of
scenery, Been in clearer moments. It is
enough to say that J came round gradually,
and began to see things as they should be
seen. Bat the hate was all gone, and love
alone was left. Yes, love was left, though
--seemed all alive with pictures. Everything
was lit up ; the world seemed a new place,
and lite had a sweeter meaning after I had
looked into Doris' eyes and she into mine.
And when, after many months, I plucked
up courage to ask her heart how it was, and
she told me, the future widened out in such
a fashion that the sight of it nearly made
me light-headed.
Had I known how things were, I should
have held my tongue, through shame and
hopelessness. But my father never gave a
• sign that ruin was near upon him ; that my
comfortable heritage, as I deemed it, was
mortgaged to its last rood. The crash
came, and then the sale, and then life in a
little cottage with a broken-down father
end a changed look -out, which, perhaps,
made me over -moody. For sometimes I
,despaired of ever possessing Doris, or if
being able under many years to support
her in a way fitting to her up -bringing.
Everything would be broken off and it
would all be a dead wall again.
It was in such humor that the notary's
letter found me that morning. I had
seldom heard ,of Uncle Ben and had never
seen him, He had in early manhood deeply
wronged my father in some way, „ and
his name was rarely mentioned, I
handed the letter to father and he was
dumb like myself, his faceworkinq strangely
betty -see anger and something tofter. Then
he put it down and said " Cotuicience
money, lad, every penny on it., but it's
saved yon from my folly, so tek it, an'
thank God for teachin' Ben repentance
an' me forgivenegs—no easy lesson when
a brother— 'Well, well, let it lie. Poor
Ben 1"
told yon in the orchard that evening; but
I cannot be yotir wife—I cannot, indeed.
Oh, -I wish I had told you earlier how
things were ; it was cruel to me to let you
go on loving me without telling you the
truth. It was afraid to at last ; but now
you are away it seems leas difficult to
say. Forgive me ; look elsewhere for
a more fitting mate—some one who can
fully share your new life with you, and
help you as a wife should, with head, heart
and hand—some one who can love you
better than Duets.'
•
was an unbroken line and America no-
where.
'But as we sped eastward through the
long days and nights, as I drew nearer to
Doris and him and the truth, the fiends
grew busier with me, and gave my little
baba of Hope such a heeding that I well-
nigh lost sight of it in the tumult.
I had been away eighteen months, and
what might a man not do in that time with
an impressionable young girl who had the
best evidence that her lover was unfaithful?
They were cousins, and had been together
in earlier years ; he was highly-tducated
and, contrasted with me, a brilliant, per-
haps a fascinating man. He had secured
his diploma, but the arduous study had
broken him down, and to recruit himself he
had left' his London home to pees some
weeks among the breezy hills of Worcester-
shire, the guest of his father's sister, the
daily companion, no doubt, of Doris. He
had seen her beauty, her young suscepti-
bility to the influences about her, and he
had wormed - hie way into her heart and
cankered it as grubs do roses. So hatred
totted it all up and made me feel as mur-
derers do. God forgive me ! It is all
passed now, and it was love's doing with all
three of us.
It was past midnight when I arrived
after ten days at Worcester. The old city
was slumbering, and the great cathedral
was watching over it and telling out the
hours to its deaf eare as the fly rumbled
b afore the final rush in. He was impatient
to get on, so was I, for from the top of the
hill' knew I. amid see the church, maybe
some of the gathering people; tut -I held
him in and took out my watch. My <heart
sank—it was -10.58. I eased the reins with a
shout, and in three bounds we were at the
hilltop and away again. I could see the
church now across the valley, and the flag
at its tower, and the pigmy forms moving
abounthe yard. But there was still hope,
atill a chance to snatch Doris back from her
peril—for such was my purpose, and my
dream had made me desperate. I set my
teeth and let the good horse gee
It was all over in ten minutes, and Neves
Doris's doing as much as mine. She could
not help it, maybe, and it was rather
sudden to jilt a man just as the vicar was
asking whether she would have him or not.
• But so it was, and I had no adonerao• wn
fa,
'
myself at the vestry door by which d
entered than she saw me, and with S' Oh,
Jack, Jack !" stumbled toward me, and fell ,
limp in my arms, and lay. there like a cut
lily and as speechless. I bad carried her
into the vestry, and was bathing her tem-
ples With the parson's drinking water before
the wedding party could realize what had
come to them. He was the first to rush in
as was natural perhaps.
Now I would not have harmed him just
then, for all his wordy spleen, if he had not
laid rough hands on me as he tried to force
me from my place. But when the shock of
noisily to the hotel, where I had perforce to his touch went through me, I sprang to
stay till daylight enabled me to continue my feet, and catching him hy the collar and
my journey by the early train. the small the back, pitched him out of
I lay on the bed half dressed, listening to the open door with such good -will that be
the quarters as they chimbed through the fell on the grass a dozen yards away and
silence one after the other, and each time lay there, a huddled heap of blackness on
the familiar sounds crossed the current of the green.
my thoughts they swung me out of the 1 When I turned round, Doris was oggoing
morrow to other days, which their enging her eyes and looking up at her mother,
brought back irreaiatibly, till by and by I asking where she was. I knelt and looked
allowed memory to have its way entirely, I down at her ; she stared while you might
and I lived again in the halcy on sunniness count three • and then her arms were around
of bygone years. I closed my eyes to look ! my neck, and I raised her in mine.
at it all, and allowed it to float dreamlike " He declared his love here at this
and as it would, till patches of grayness wicket, as you had, dear, before him."
came, and a fading of color and form, and I " But the letter ?" I said.
was feat asleep. " Oh, how could you believe it, Jack ?
But as I lay like any log, and the hours The letter was my second refusal, sent a
went on, till all in the city but myself week after he had taken to his practice.
could hear the cathedral clock ring them He must have forwarded it to yon in the
out, some part of my brain woke up, and cover of one of mine. How cruel and
finding reason still a sluggard, started wicked of him ! And you "— She looked
straightway a -dreaming. It was a queer up, and there was such reproach in her eyes
medley for the most part, and 110 better that I turned mine away, not daring to
than other fantaieies of the sort ; bat to meet them.
this day I remember it more as a real thing " Jealousy made a fool of me, Dark.
than a trick of the brain if such it was. How can I tell it you ? Yon see, the letter
badly nourished, having no hopes to diet it; There in the darkness of the prairie was the
and I got accustomed to think of Doris
deep red rose that Doris hadgiven me, borne
as
one who was dead and yet living, and very
lovable withal, even as Beatrice was to
Dante.
Scla year passed and left me minus some
thousands of dollars. I had found my way
into Colorado and eras a miner at one of the
great joint-stock claims which have taken
the place of the old-fashioned diggings.
The rough work suited my humor, and
there was life and go in the town and
much distraction in the game of Pharoah,
of which more in its place. For 11i110
months 1 had not heard from Canada, and
ceased to think of the place. My father
had taken kindly to his new life, which was
all I needed to know. I wished to be, and
was a solitary in the world, though I
mixed much with men, finding more isola-
tion in a crowd than in lonely places. But
I was beginning to be reatleas again and.to
wish for another change, when something
happened which I had not looked for, but
which makes me always thankful I played
Pharoah that night at Midas'.
It was nothing more than a quarrel and a
whipping out of revolvers and then a sudden
lane of rough figures looking on while the
two fired from either end. I heard the kw
by an army of fireflies, in whose united
radiance the flower lay on a hammock of
golden threads and flitted before me mock-
ingly while I stumbled in chase of it. Aye,
it
waa the rose, and it blushed in the em-
brace of Doris' own hair. I had seen it
shine so at sundown when the light
got in it and made it luminous with
a gold not its own, as the grass blades
aeem shafts of emerald fire when the glowL
worms are among them. The phantasm
rose and fell in the blackness, while the
hundreds of little light points made a shift-
img circle round. On, on they flitted, ever
eluding me as I stumbled along, till there
was a sudden clash of bells, when the little
vision dissolved into a kind of crimson and
golden atmosphere in which I laved myself
with beating handl% while it widened more
and mare, lighting all things round, till I
saw that I stood in a crowded churchyard
in all the soft sheen of a summer's morning.
I tubbed my eyes as the peoplemoved about,
some toward the wooden porch, some taking
places on the path, till there was an avenue
of smiling faces and one slim figure fol-
lowed by her maids., wending slowly
through all.
thud of the ballet as it struck Black Jake, It was Doris, alt white and beautiful in
and I caught him in my arms as he fell bridal vestments; but her golden head was
backward with sadden limpness and whiten. bent and there was heaviness in her step.
ing face. I had only seen him once before, As if she were entering some prison house,
and he had roused a vague recollection never to know liberty again, she paused at
which had niade me look again at him, the porch, and looked long and wistfully
wondering what it was about him that was back into the sunshine. And I could ' see
so familiar. He had been at one of the far the thin face and the pain deep down in her
tables, or perhaps his speech would, have eyes, knowing all the meaning of her long
given me the cue. Now, as he opened his look, but unable to move, as she passed in
eyes and stared np into mine, be ,turned his and out of my sight. Then the clanging of
lips from the flask and said: " God forgive the bells died away into a melody of old
us—it's Master Sedley !" time which they quaintly chimed, while
"That's so. Take a pull at this, and tell. the people thronged into the church,1:aving
me who you are," said I, ,,surprised at my me alone among the headstones.. The agony
own name. • was too much. I wrenched free my voice
The liquor was of little use, for his heart and shrieked her nnme—and awoke, still
was slowing every moment, but it brought hearing the chiming, but realizing gradually
a flicker to his face and a word or tevo that it came from the • cathedral tower,
more to his lips. " Gie me yer ear— which I could see in the morning sun over
closer," he whispered.' "Bob Hawn— the houeetape, and its clock pointed to
Ranston postman—ay, yo' know now. three minutes past nine.
They want me—Want me for robbing the Now, 1 never believe in dreams ; but I
bags. Tell'em death has got me,
an' tea sat down to breakfast uneasy and without
young chap as I hopes to—He larned me appetite, looking in at that desparing white
the Beginnin'—he—. Yore letters—Miss face with a growing sense of its ominous-
Doris's—I stopped am—His money. Hope nese, and chafing mightily at the fact that
no harm done, Sir—I—Christ save—His there was no train to take me on for
eyes glazed, a tremble went through him, another two hours.
and he slipped off without anothers'Nvord, " Paper, sir ?'; I heard the waiter say as
I trifled with the toast-. I dropped my eyes
mechanically on to the folded ehe.et, but
only looked vacantly at it, or rather a head-
line which standing out from the rest, took
my eyes, being definite as the fire is in the
darkness, or a candle flame, which we gaze
at without noting. There was- the name ef
my own village etaring me in the face, and
for a hill minute I never saw it—Ranston-
An hour went by, maybe two, while the
hardening went on, while the love died
away, and the light and the joy of life
dimmed and flickered out, leaving me in
darkness with hate and revenge. Then I
rose up and looked round at the difference
of things, for all seemed altered and not the
same. I moved to my desk and, unlocking
a cirewer, took out all her lettere, and they,
too, had altered and/ were merely so many
pieces -of paper, net steered things to be
touched with reverence, like bits of the
holy rood. But the breath of lavender from
them got at some soft corner in me, making
my eyes hot and tightening my throat. For
a second or two I paused, looking at the
vision that grew out of them, till anger
puffed and blew it all away, leaving me with
only the bundle of papers. This I wrapped
up, along with a dead rose and a lock of
yellow hair, and directed to Mass Hanlow,
henston-in-the-Vale, Worcestershire, Eng-
land.
" Here," said I, es Nits, my uncle's old
housekeeper, hobbled in to lay the cloth for
tea; "let one of the lade take thie-to the
station before dark. No matter ; take
leaving me staring at the dyed whiskers
and dissipated features with ringing ears
and a thowand thoughts and feelings
all set loose together, to the overwheming
of my, with, which seemed quite undone.
reong after they had carried him away
and the noise and confusion was spent, I
stood leaning on the bar counter, staring
vacantly through the smoke of the saloon,
in -the -Vale. It was all a flash, as was my
seeing and hearing nothing, but conscious
eagerness as I snatched up the paper and
read the local items : " Bellringene Dinner
—Fire at the Hall—The Approaching Mar-
riage of Dr. Robson."
of a growing heed within me and a tighten-
ing of my teeth as I reckoned things up and
saw in all clearness the perfidy that had
come between us. The lettere—was not that
a part of it ? It was a forgery, a trick,
and I had been a fool to be duped by it—
nay, a villain in very truth ; for 1 had
doubted, lions and given her pain and
misery a thousand times worse than my
own.
Yet the letter was clear enough, said the
ghost of Doubt; it was in her own charac-
teristic laand writing, said Memory ; and
there -was no forging that, put in Doubt
again. -
Then a resolution came to me, and I
walked out into the open air and breathed
it in with a long inhalation, as men do at
sudden ielief or when stirred with new
PurPase-
lnere were evil things in my heart, but
was so worded that, coming after your
silence and on top of my knowledge that he
" Who told you he was still here'! I
avoided the subject for year sake."
" news travels fast; but don't let us
speak of it. He allowed the parcel to
reach you—what did you think when you
opened it!"
When- I was able, I wrote you, asking
what it meant," she said simply.
" And I never answered?"
" No."
I gazed at her nearly choking. What had
my suffering been to hers?
"And oh ! I was so wretched, Jack," she
went on in her naive way, "and when he
came a third time, full of sympathy, and
offering to relieve poor mother of the debts
which bad nearly brought the old home to
the brink of breaking, I—I said yes, feel-
ing that I had no will—that it waa a duty
thrust upon me. But it is all past now,ian't
it?"
Gladness made her sigh, and I could
feel her sweet breath as she looked up -at
me.
"Do you forgive him, then ?" said I,
looking away, and thinking of this abject
figure as he writhed under my whip an hour
ago.
" Yes, yes, Jack ! and you must too.
Yon have punished him enough, and he has
promised to go away. Let us forget 'him—
let us look upon it as a bad dream. Oh,
Jack, my heart nearly runs . over with its
gladness—surely yours has nought elite in it
now"
" God bless you !" said I.
" And you, Jack I." said she. '
And then we joined. hands and turned to
the hoese, becoming one in lore and charity,
Doris and I.—Chambers' Journal.
was still at Ranaton 1"-
I remember the sense of paralysis, the
rush of darkness to the eyea, and then the.
sudden return of light as I jumped to my
feet and stood for a moment ifteaolute, with
my watch in my hand. Quarter past ten—
the ceremony was at l 1—three parts -of an
hour to do fifteen miles. A wave of help-
lessieese swept over me and then of hot
strength—eothing lees than the Strength of
despair, and, thank God, it carried me
through.
I never shall forget that ride. The horse
was fresb—the pick of the beat posting
stables in Woreaster—and I had much to
do to keep it in, while we breasted Red-
hill to the level of London Road. Then
I gave it ita head and a tip from the heels
there was one little corner where hope and away we shot like two mad things.
stirred, as if after a long sleep. I could feel Seeing nothing but the yellow road before
it as I looked up to the heavens where the me, I counted every spring of the animal
stars were twinkling down at me as if they as he skimmed along, scarcely feeemaig to
knew a thing or two, having seen Doris touch the ground with his light hoofs,
and flying faster and faster as he warmed to
only a few hours agope.
Next morning I started for New 'York; it and heard mycries of encouragement
and in four more days was on the Atlantic, For half an hour let him go, till we came
No wonder, then, that I Ea* visions as I ie evade where's Bose ?" gazing at the last point of Sandy Hook as to a stiff hill not three miles from Ranaton.
walked home in the light of the aftermath. "Gobi'
wally ?"said Bon Wilson,
as j it sank lower and lower, till the horizon Here I pulled him np end made him walk
41,
4 Brave Hero.
. " Von may be on the right side, God
knows; but our duty is the duty of soldiera,
and we will fight yon whenever on press
4
us. Yon may crush this force ' an egg
shell; if yon can, and you may Igo then
bury us in one ditch."
These were the brave words of Keller
Anderson, in command of,the men guarding
that convict etockade in the mountains of
Tennessee. They were his answer' to the
demand for surrender made by that desper-
ate band of miners who threatened to anni-
hilate everything before them. To a later
demand, when resistance seemed hopeless,
his reply was "Never !"
Finaliy, when he had been seized by the
maddened force and a gun was levelled at
his head with the threat of death unless he
ordered the surrender of the guard, the
brave old hero said, "Tell my daughter I.
died like a soldier," and then added," Now,
damn you, shoot."
Such sublime bravery and loyalty to duty
seimp Keller Anderson as a hero of the
highest type. —Xs a York Herald.
" SIC" and "SW*
i
Some one who believes in teach/ g by ex-
ample has concocted a lesson in e use of
two little words which have been source of
mortitication and trouble to many well-
meaning persona.
A man, or woman either, can set a her,
although they cannot sit her ; neither can
they set on her, although the hen might
sit on them by the hour if they would
allow it.
A man mum* set on the wash -bench,
but he could set the basin on it; and
neither the basinnor the grammarians would
object.
He could sit on the dog's tail if the dog
were willing, or he might set his foot on it..
Butif he should eet on the aforesaid tail, or
sit hie foot there, the grammarians as well
as the dog would howl, metaphorically at
least..'
And yet the man might set the tail aside
and then sit down. and be assailed neither
by the dog nor by the grammarians.— Youth's
Campanion.
An energetic housekeeper may be known
by the feet that there is never a particle
of 'dust on the furniture. It in all in
lungs of the family.
a