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HomeMy WebLinkAboutThe Huron News-Record, 1894-02-14, Page 2?.:S «. sess. • A Bright Lad, 'len years of ago, but who declines to give his name to the public, makes this authorized, confidential statement to us: "When I was one Year old, my mamma died of consumption. lite doctor said that 1, too, would soon die and all our neighbors thought that even Ii 1 did not die, I would never be able to walk, because 1 was so weak and puny. A gathering formed and broke under my arm. 1 hurt my finger and it gathered and threw nut pieces of bone. if 1 hurt myself so as to break the skin, it NUS sure to become a running sore. I had to take lots of medicine, but nothing has done int so much good as Ayer's Sarsapa- rilla. It has made rho well and strong."— T. 1). M., Norcatur, Kans. AYER'S Sarsaparilla' Prepared by Dr. J. C. Ayer & Co., Lowell, Mese. Cures others, will cure you rhe Huron News -Record $1.50 a Year—$L25 In Advance - Wednesday, Feb. 14(1,1894 "If I Should Die To -Night" Church of Irelanerarieh Magazine. If I should die to -night My friends would look upon my quiet face Before they laid it in its resting place, And deem that death had left it almost fair, And laying snow white flowers against my hair, Would smooth it down with tearful tenderness, And fold lay hands with lingering caress— Poor hands so empty and so cold to- night. if I should die to -night My friends would call to mind with loving thought Some kindly deed the icy hand had wrought, Some gentle word the frozen lips had said, Errands on'which the willing feet had sped. The memory of my selfishness and pride, My hasty words, would all be put aside, And so I should be loved and mourned to night. If I should die to -night, Even hearts estranged would turn once more to mo, Recalling other days remorsefully. The eyes that chill me with averted glance Would look upon me as of yore, per- chance Would soften in the old familiar way, For who would war with dumb uncon- scious clay ? So I might rest, forgiven of all, to- night. Oh, friends, I pray to -night Keep not your kisses for my dead cold brow, The way is lonely, let me feel them now. Think gently of me ; I am travel worn My faltering feet are pierced with many a thorn, Forgive, 0 hearts estranged, forgive, I plead ! When dreamless rest is aline I shall not need The tenderness for which I long to- night. Attributed to Robert C. V. Myers The Last of Captain Wilson.' TWO DRANK AMERICAN SCOUTS, WHO RODE CONTINUOUSLY FOR THREE DAYS IN SEARCH OF RELIEF What Time Ohohaver. Whet time Mho loves me and doth lay Her little hams In nine, 'The winter blossoms like the MY Apd scars through storm•eloudv shine 1 What time she loves me not—ah mc1 in spring the winter seams to bel When I do feel that, she is kind, Life hath no more to give. For sweetly ?loth the sun and wind Make all Iifo's violets Ilvei But when, perchance, her frown I see, Life's last sweet violet dies for me; How, on her lightest touoh, My hope, iny heaven depeudsl 11 it bo 111 to love so much, Love inaketh all emends 1 Cruel or kind though she may be, Her love is heaven and earth to met —Frank L. Stanton. IN THE SNOW. Manoah Putnam stood in the broad porch of his lather's ample farts house and looked out over the winter land- scape, so very much of which belonged to his own patrimony, and a proud man he was. Proud he always was, and of all that pertained to hint, including his own feet and inches, and what he deemed his other persona! attractions ; but just 'at that moment he was prouder of his big horse and his new sleigh than of any- thing else. Truth to tell, they were both good of their kind, and Manoah knew it. Ile knew, too, that almost any girl in the valley would be glad to try the first snow in that sleigh and behind that horse ; that is, with him, Manoah. There had been make-believe storms, mere whims, before, but no sleighing : and now the snow had been coming down all the previous night and had not ceased yet, though there were signs of that and it was beginning to drift. ""I won't be first rate till it's peeked," he said, as he took the reins and sprang in, "but I'll see what Sophie Williams 'II say to it." It was a brief and brisk little drive down the road, and then he pulled up in front of just such another farm house as the one he had left. Not precisely before the door, for that space was already occupied by a somewhat diminu- tive if not antiquated -looking "cutter," which arching swan -necks in front, and provided with only a black, restive. seeming "Canadian pony," that looked as if he would have been little more than a good meal for Manoah's equine favor- ite. The young man could only give a glance at the pony. however, for there sen the porch stood Sophie Williams her- self, almost invisible through her furs and wraps, but, for alt that, undoubtedly the prettiest, sauciest and most indepen- dent little piece of coquetry in all Cherry Valley. Brief enough was Manoah's greeting before he announced that lie had come to take bis fair neighbor out for a sleigh - ride, pointing, as he did so, to the un- deniable attractions of his new establish- ment. Sophie would have liked, it may be, something more of humility in Manoah's manner, but she looked at the horse and sleigh, and she was almost ready to forgive and accept. In a moment more she would have done so and sent her pony back to the barn, but Manoah's evil genius made hint open his mouth. "Isn't it" tiptop, Sophie?" he said. "That little rig that old Squire Haddam give yo ain't a pritnin' to it. Sophie felt that he mentally added ; "No more'n Eph Haddam is to me," and she rejoined a little too briskly : "No comparisons, please, Mr. Put- nam ; my pony is good enough for me, and l'm going to take shy sleighride with him to -night. You can find some- body else easy enough." "What 1" said Manoah. "You don't mean to say you won't go with me?" "Yes, but I do," said Sophie. "And I won't keep you from hunting up other company. Come, pony." Even as she spoke she had tripped down to the gate ; and before the dis- mayed youth could collect his not too brilliant wits she had actually driven off before his very eyes, and all alone, too. It was not the, first time that. Sophie Williams had treated Manual). Putnam badly, but it was a little the worst case yet, and without even going to see the "old folks," Manoah whipped up his tall horse and drove disconsolately away, as if he, too, was very much disposed to enjoy his ride alone. As for Sophie, she drove on 'merrily, with an occasional little soliloquizing laugh that had a willful and almost a mocking ring to it. "He's a pretty fellow." she murmur- ed, "to laugh at Old Squire kladdanh's present I Neither he nor his father ever made a present to anybody. Epli s a thousand miles away, but I wish he was here to take a ride—yes, even if he had Dora Putnam with him. What would I care, so he had a good time and enjoyed himself? Manoah Putnam, indeed 1" The snow had been pretty heavy and the roads were as yet very imperfectly broken, but the Canada pony, like all his breed, was a tough and stout little fellow, and he trotted horsefully away with his light and merry burden. Several miles had now been swept, pretty rapidly behind her, and Sophie ought to have turned her pony's head toward home, for not only was the wind rising and the snow once more falling heavily but it was also drifting badly and she could only guess what obstacles would be presented on her return. She did not, however. but said aloud : "This is the road to the Corners. May he I'll meet'Sam or father, It's almost time for them, and 1'11 drive to the cut, anyhow." Into the "cut," where the road went through the ridge of tho hill, she was pretty sure the snow had drifted too heavily for the pony to get through. As for Sam and father, they had availed themselves of the sleighing to start for the Corners early that morning to deliv- er two heavy ox-sled•loads of grain at the railway station ; and, if she had only know it, something had been hap- pening there at the very moment she had given a "snub" to Manoah Put- nam, Sam Williams, the picture of his sister in everything but good looks, had been superintending the delivery of the grain, while the father was making purchases in the village, when the belated passen- ger train came pulling and blowing its way through the storm up to the plat- form of the station. It stopped only a moment, and but to land aeinglo passenger and his heavy leathern portmanteau, The latter was promptly dragged under shelter, but its owner—a tall. broad -shouldered, bearded personage, in a heavy fur cap and othhr voluminous protections from the weather—strode forward and put this hand on the shoulder 'of Sophie's brother. "flow are you, Sam?" "Jerusalem 1" whistled Sam. "Is that you ? Well, if I ain't glad to see The big game hunter Cotyndon has just returned from Matabele, and in an interview with a correspondent gave a stirring description of Captain Wilson's fatal pursuit of Labengula. He spoke very highly of the great assistance given Captain Wilson by two Amer- icans of the name of Birnan and Ing- rain, who accompanied Wilson's party and diel daring scoutingl, during the canhpaign. He said : ''uVhen Captain Wilson's party was first attacked by Lobengula's escort, he sent the Amer - leans back to Major Forbes, who was stationed on the ihangani river, to get reinforcements. After a most perilous ride under fire the Americans reached the Shangarr.i, which they found to be rapidly rising, and they had great ditliculty in swimming the rushing stream. During their ride they heard continuous firing behind thein. The arrival of the Americans with the tidings of Captain Wilson's peril creat- ed great excitement among Major Forhef's force, which immediately started to aTd Captain Wilson. But they were soon attacked and were forced to retreat. On the following night the position of Major Forbe's forces was so dangerous that the two Americans were dispatched under cover of a heavy thunderstorm, to Buluwayo for reinforcements. The Americans, after stealing through the enemies lines, rode almost continuous- ly at all times in the greatest peril, for three days and nights until they reach- ed Buluwayo. They were almost dead from fatigue when they reached there, but were able to tell their story after at short rest. They were overwhelmed with attention is b the force at Bulu- wayo, and immediate arrangements were made to send a relief column to the assistance of Major Forbes. The Americans accompanied them hack, and when they reatlhed the Forbes party they found them in a deplorable condition. They' had lost 120 horses, they had run out of provisions and had been compelled to eat horse -flesh and their clothes were in tatters." Mr. Peterli.hdpath, the former Mont- real millionaire, died in England Thurs- day. ye l .i reok8 ,nelintrr*,kttione,yenfre coming, or t►'e'ilihu' known ISN,. • "Reckon not." said the etranger ; "but a surprise won't hurt "em," And then followed a vbiley ofques- tions and answers hi the way of inquiries and urlfermatfon 'concerning. the life and health of people iu the valley, "And now," said the stranger at last—, "now I'm here, the puzzle is how I am ever to get over lhotne," ' " it," replied Sam,' "that puzzle ain't wo th a cent. The old man and I've bo h got our teams here, and you can go when we do. 'Tain't half a mile from your house to our'n," "That'll do, Thank you. But when are you going to start?' "Can't tell 'xaotly. Oo when the old matt gets ready. 1 know ! I'll tell ye just what to do. You can drive oxen's well as I can. You put your trunk on my sleigh and go ahead,and I'll wait and come with him. How's that?" "Splendid !" exclaimed the stranger, and in a few moments more he was standing in the front end of Sam's long, heavy sleigh, flourishing the gad over the double yoke of oxen and shouting to them as if he had done nothing else all his life. That was what had been happening at the Corners, and so it came to pass as Sophie and her ponie began to draw near the "cut" she heard the hoarse tones of a man's voice on the outer side of the ridge, encouraging his oxen to plunge forward and break their way through the deep drift. "It must be Sam or father," said Sophie, "and I guess l'd better turu round. It's a mean place for that, though." It was not, indeed, the best kind of a locality to wheel a cutter in, and Sophie saw that in order to do so she must drive out of the rapidly disappearing track iuto the drifts at the side. Pony was up to anything, however, and sprang boldly forward at the first touch of the whip. Alas for unn and for his mistress and that he was so small an animal 1 For the first half-dozen yards revealed the fact that the road had been deeply ditch- ed on that side, and the pony almost disappeared in the snow-covered hollow, dragging the cutter after hien. Two or three plucky, persistent struggles he made to extricate himself, and then stood still in his fleecy bath, turuiug his frosted head back at Suuirie with a look that seemed to say : "There, now, it isn't a bit of use. What shall we do about it?" Sophie sympathized strongly with her pout', but she laughed long and merrily over her funny predicuuient, shaking the snow from her dress and the buffalo robes, but glad enough to feel sure that help was so near. And now it was rapidly coining near- er, for Sophie could see the borne of the oxen. and she stood up in the little sleigh and shouted : "Sam ! Father ! Do hurry up and help mel Puny and 1 are caught in the drift." Nu answer came to her summons, and as the oxen labored closer to her invol- untary halting place she could discern notniug familiar in the form or the hoarse, deep, singular voice of their driver, A tall. strong -looking fellowhe was, with heavy beard, and moustache now thickly tangled with frost and the driv- ing snow. This and the fur cap drawn over his brow and ears and his heavy wrappings of overcoat and shawl pre. vented almost entirely any such thing as a look at his face, Sophie was woman enough, how- ever, even then to note that from his boots to his cap everything was of a style and tex,ure not to be found awoug ordinary drivers of oxen in the valley. Although the stranger was neither Sam nor her father, he evidently had pity on pocr Sophie, for he halted his team and pi/urged into the drift to her assistance. Not a word he spoke, but, to Sophie's as- touishment and indignation, he picked her up iu his long. strong arms. waded back and put her down on some robes and blankets in his own sleigh. His nett exploit was to loosen the puny, lead him out of the ditch hitch,biuh on behind the ox -sled. and then pick up the cutter bodily and put it just behind Sophie. As if not content with that; he had 00 soon- er fairly arrauged and secured his new cargo than he again picked up Sophie and put her back in the cutter,' so that she was now riding in two sleighs instead of one, and then he started his oxeu forward, without uttering a syl- lable. The pony trotted on behind in a very conteihted frame of mind, but Sophie was dumbfounded. Never before, in Iter admired and petted existence, had she been treated so unceremoniously; and yet, as she looked first at herself in her queer perch and then at the tall form of her snowy driver in the front of the sleigli and back to the sober, con- tented !'ace of her pony, she could hard- ly restrain a langh, it was all so queer. On they went, however, the long ox -gad plying freely over the slow oxen, and the hoarse, deep voice of their driver every now and then urging or guiding until they were little over a mile from home. Just here, however, a new excitement was added to the adventures of the day, for out of the blinding snow and the driving storm a horse and sleigh came dashing madly down the road. There was no time for the ox team to turn out, if there had been room, and as the run - away tried to do so, his sidelong spring threw both himself aud the light frame- work behind him so heavily against the larger sleigh that they both were rolled over and over in the drifts and not only the horse and cutter but the man in the latter, who should have been guiding theca. Sophie's driver sprang out, and in an instant more he' had the panting runaway on his feet, while the master picked himself out of the drift, and re- vealed the undamaged but crestfallen features of Manoah Putnam. "Is that you, Sophie?" gasped he, "Have you been run away with?" "No, I have not," returned Sophie ; "and l'm glad enough that I refused to go with you. I might have had my neck broke." Manoah turned and look ruefully at his establishment, and then set at work in silence to put it once more in shape. "No use," hoarsely remarked the stranger, "the runners broke, and so is the shaft. Pitch it out there on one side, hitch your horse on behind here and jump in. You can come back for it." ' Manoah obeyed mechanically, al- though he hardly knew if he was glad or not to find himself and his gay bear- skin robes transferred to the elevated seat where Sophie archly trade roots for him. Atter that the oxen had a very silent trio behind them ; but they were soon halted in front of Sophie's own home. Manoah refused to come in, although Sophie really urged him ; and even while site was talking at the gate—for Abe iti}d sprung out, without waiting to be lifted -411e stranger had opened the great gate into the yard ; and the Ehret thing Sophie knewhe was guiding 111 the exon, sleigh end all, followed by tlto PO'iI'Sure as I'm alive," exctauned Sophie, as she turned her eyes from the retreat. ing form of the discomforted Manoali, "it's our sleigh, after all, and it's Sam's own oxen 1 If that ain't queer ! Why didn't I think of it before?' With more than a little wonder in her head, she made the best of her way into the house and proceeded to take off her things. Never before had she been so slow about it, for between each two articles site stopped to consider the re- markable events of the morning. "Sophie," said her mother, 'what in all the world has come over you ? Didn't you and Manoah have a, pleasaut ride ?" "1 didu't go with Manoah." "Oh, somehow I'd got it into my head that you did. Seems to me Sara's a long time putting up his oxen." "It wasn't Sam," said Sophie. "Not Sam?" exclaimed her mother. "Then who on earth was it?" Just then the side door opening into the sitting -room where they were was familiarly thrown open, and a voice by no means so deep or so hoarse as the one which had shouted at the oxen re• plied: •'Only me, Mrs. Williams. 1 reckon Sam and his father'!! get horse before night." "Eptt Haddam?" "Olt, Eph'!" Mother and daughter were alike aston- ished, for, now the fur cap was off and the frost and snow cleated away, nut even the beard and moustache could dis- guise the features of their old acquaite twice. " Well, now, if I ain't glad to see ye 1" heartily exclaimed the old lady. "Oh, Eph, was it you all the time?" half ruefully queried Sophie, as she held out her hand. "Yes, Sophie ; and I was glad enough to find you driving the pony by your- self, when you might have had better company than space. Won't you forgive mei' Somehow or other Sophie was glad also, although she did nut say it ; and if filial duty did carry Eph Haddam over borne for a few hours, he came back to spend the evening ; and, ou the whole, she ever afterward considered that the very best sleighride of that or any other winter.—New York Ledger, A New Year's Pray or, A New Year is our chosen field— Pause, and think, what, will it yield? Whate'er we row, that will we reap, Father, guide us as most meet. These little children in our care Day by day, and year by year; Let us guide their willing feet Into pastures, green and sweet; Where the living waters flow, That each one Thy name may know, May they try kind deeds to do; Be ever gentle, good and true, And when the harvest doth appear, Oh, gather in these children dear, And if we've failed, do Thou forgive, And grant that all with Thee may live, FAITHFUL. answered that u, h teens( tell him insultlwhatg answletterer sheand halide given. Ile trusted his wife. "I hurried back," she said, as elle carpe in, "1 heard -of the accident as I was doing my marketing," As she laid lire pprehas6161 elle shad made on the table he hats time to thrust rho letter back into the vase: He would wait for Iter to speak. Mme, Fonrnier continued to busy her- self with her household duties. He watched her, and he found her still young, browned like himself, almost as tall, gracefully poised on her pointed sabots, and a waist still slender. From time to time she looked at him with a smile ; she was not surprised to see him looking sombre after the ac- cident, She did not say anything about it, for she had given her advice on the subject long ago and it was the sole smat- ter op which they disagreed. , ife, have you nothing new to tell me?" "Nothing, my dear husband." His face contracted as with a sudden pain. His wife, thinking it was due to chagrin at the accident, kissed him ten- derly. He pressed her to him with unaccus- tomed force. Never, in the fiercest tem- pest had he suffered as he suffered now. Suspicion entered his simple, loyal heart ravaged it terribly. "Well, good-bye. I am going to the harbor. We shall go out with the next tide if the backstay is repaired. Good- bye." She accompanied him to the end of the street and bade him farewell with so -frank an eye that he asked himself if it were possible that such a woman could lie, He was about to go to the Harding when one of the sailors saw Min and carne after tutu. Compelled to return to his vessel Ile had time to reflect. A sudden fit of rage, a fight would prove nothing and he could never know the truth. So he calmly watched the work of preparatiau which was coming on a- pace. • At 2 o'clock his wife ui'ouglht hrnr his Luncheon; at 6 his son came to kiss hits good-bye and that eveuiug he set sail again, after having seen the Harding leave Treport for England. The following Saturday, after a terri- ble tempest, the fishing fleet returned to Treport. laden with a fine catch of fish. Master Fournier looked quietly to see if the English three -master was at Lite quay but she was not there. Disembarking, he learned that the Harding had gone down in sight of Spithead, and that all on board had been lost, Harry Evans, then, was dead, His wife alone knew the truth ; he would not dare to question her; he would never know the truth—lie would doubt her al- ways. Prom that time every one in Treport remarked that Master Fournier had grown taciturn. They asked his wife the, reason, but she replied evasively that she did not know. His sailors found him rougher than be- fore and more avaricious. He often re- turned to Treport ou Sunday morning and !eft again the same evening without a night's rest. One week lie came back on Tuesday ank the news spread that the St.Laurent had brought back the corpse of a drown- ed man. According to the custom of that part of the coast Master Fournier bad given orders to return to port, los- ing his catch of fish in order to bury the dead. Accompanied by two of his• sailors he made his deposition before the Comuhis- siouer ;tad the latter had hits sign , the declaration that "the body of a drowned ruau had been recovered uy the St, Lau• rent at a paint 15 miles south-southwest of Spithead, treasuring 5 feet 10 inches in -height. dressed in a blue woollen shirt, trousers of gray cloth and necker- chief of red cotton : no shapers. no marks to establish identity ; supposed irony- the place of drowning, iu default of other evidence, to be one of the crew of the Har" Earlyding.the next morning a funeral pro- cession traversed the village and bore to the little cnurcu the remains of the un- known sailor found by the St. L avant. Behind the cotliu walked the sailors of the St. Laurent, their master at their head and behind the men came the wives or mothers of tate sailors. The religious ceremony was brief, but respectfully followed, and the unknown dead was conducted to the cemetery by the great family of sailors of Treport, who honor themselves in thus honoring the remains of others. The fishing fleet had set out early in the morning. The atmosphere was very clear, and the boats could still be seen in the distance, strung out in a long line across the horizon, between the Oriel beach and the Ponte de Cayeux. A few sailors' wives, children and old men still loitered on the jetty. all iu ex- cellent humor, for with such weather there certainly should be a fine haul of fish. The sea was admirably blue, but lashed by the wind, it broke into little waves, which rushed, white capped, to- ward the shore. "Do you see it yet, mamma ?" asked a little fellow who had stayed away from school that morning in order to see his father start with the fleet, His mother hhd a marine glass—a lux- ury that her neighbors envied her. In such clear weather as this if they could not distinguish tae men they could at least make out the Humber ou the sails. He would have remained a long time watching his father's sloop as it grew sm .11er and smaller in the distauce, but his mother led him away. They must go back to the house to their work-. They loitered along the harbor, which had lost its animation now that the fleet of fishing craft w,as gone. On the side toward the town a few small boats were waiting till the sea went down a little before venturing out, and on the other side half a dozen ships were discharging their cargoes of coal and taking phosphates. Mme. Fournier slopped mechanically in the middle of the quay to look at a fine English three -master, the Harding, which came every week with a cargo of coal. A sailor, leaning on the rail of the ship, saw her and waved his cap gayly to her. She turned away and hurried up the Rue de Is Falaise to her home. Two hours later the loungers of the Rue de la Falaise were greatly, surprised to see Master Fournier;, the owner of the fishing sloop T 672 lhastenitig angrily homeward. He had not entered the house before the neighbors had run to learn the rea- son of his sudden return. Why had he come back? It was that way that they had of leav- ing port, with all sails set, whatever the weather, which was known all up and down the coast as "Treport sailing," Her backstay had been broken and Fournier had had to come back to port for repairs. These were already under way, and, once he had seen has men at work, lie had come up to see his wife a moment. "Your wife—she has gone out, but will be back directly." He was pouring himself a glass of thin wine from the pitcher he had drawn that morning before leaving, when he noticed the inkstand open on the the table and the pen beside it, still wet with ink. It was his son's pen and inkstand, but as the little fellow never wrote dur- ing the day he concluded that his wife must have been writing. Almost at the same moment he noticed a latter in the blue vase on the mantel, and without thinking he opened it and road: Mine Fournier—I love you more than I can tell. I implore you to set a time when we can meet. Yoo are free— your husband is gone. HARRY EVANS, "My Godl" cried Fournier. "Hurry Evans!" Ile knew him well, this handsome English Bailor of the Harding, who had already ruined more than one home in Treport—a tall fellow, as tall as Four- nier himself, with the complexion of a girl and tender blue eyes. Ile sprang up to rush to the quay and strangle the Englishman when he heard his wife returning., Evidently she had PARK$R's FIRST $ Rly4�i4", Be Din not opare thsi ;titqulties r,i1: t Ana tsad Spoke !Ate rho Thuudsr. It le lnterefiting to read an account the dellvery of the first sermon of popular pteaVber of "the City, Tempi n London, which Dr, Parkercontrhbu to "TheThough . independentbbuteighteen, , Naw I Yhorkad for fo or five years been in the habit of dressing boys' meetings and mach] quite an active figure in obscure dobta R mg societies. I run afraid1l was the te ror of some young aenira cal influence and fame. to the village green I Itac whatever of preaching my'rtiret sereno_ The idea of doing so suddenly and eye poweringly seized me. ''lie text whic I selected was not soothing on Standing bolt upright on the cr•,; beatns of the saw -pit. I read as my te these words : 'It shall be more tolerab for Tyre and Sidon in the d of judgment than for you.' Ti was, perhaps, too hard u my rustic audience. Not "Get yourselves ready," announced Master Fournier to his hien ; "we get to ,sea directly." Fouruier led his wife to a little knoll a few paces away from the cemetery. He wished to speak wail her without wit- nesses. "Wife," he said, "do you know for whom you have come to pray ?" She trembled and pressed her hus- band's (hand. She hail never seen hits so solemn. The man we have just bu- ried was Harry Evans—Trait r' Mme. Fournier turned pale. Her hus- band handed her a paper, staiued as if with heater. "Wife, I have doubted you. My pun- ishment is to accuse thyself of it. I read the letter lie dared to hvrite to you, stud I have been very miserable. The other night, when this drowned man was fouud, I aline searched Ihinh. I could not show to others, nut even to the Com- missioner, the only paper he had on him. in a little bag of oiled silk. The water had dimined it a little, but I have read it nevertheless." It was the answer written to the hand- some English sailor by Mine. Fournier : "Ste—1 lova iny husband ; that is the sole answer I can wage to your letter. I shall say nothing to my husband, for he would kill you. Never come here agai n." "Wife, do you forgive me ?" "0, my poor husband, how you have suffered 1" From that day Master Fournier grew young and gay again ; but nothing can keep lam from going out with all sails set. -San Francisco Argonaut. Milady's Ilondolr Up to Date. Dainty bedroom papers are mucic in demand, and wonderfully beautiful some of them are, The one fault in rooms of any size is hick of character and a so►newhat faded ensemble, but even that has been obviated by a clever device. Iu the home of a recent bride of artistic taste the walls of the guest room are papered with a design of pale pink upon creamy white ground, and tho defect of tob pale tints is entirely overcome by a boruering of i,iive caltridge paper. Each o4. the four walls has become a panel, and the plain tint runs around all sides, so that the sweet, tender pinks are inclosed in a frame and the room as a whole gains the dignity that it de- sires.—American Upholstery Trade. to rhetor ell x We o intents T l/ ,.. DR. PARKER. word of the sermon can I remember. for ideas, probably there were none t recollect. I do remember, however, th, tone of denunciation. I did not spa iniquities of the age; I loosed all th thunders' could command, and delive ed my soul with audacious frankne The sermon was necessarily extemp raneous. Neit ler thought nor word ha I prepared. I simply knew that the ag wascorrupt,and taking the hundred rus tics as representative of the total ini quity, I hurled upon then the thunde bolts of outraged Heaven. Soule person are kind enough to think that even no I am not wholly destitute of energy, bu I can assure them that, at eighteen, vol canoes, tornadoes, whirl winds,and othe energetics cut a very secondary figure when -I was on the saw -pit. "My first sermon really ran into second, which was also preached in th open air. I see the rustic road, and see the green hedge which formed background. The audience was largj and entirely agricultural., My text wail 'HI whet my glittering sword, and m Band take hold of judgment,'I will ren der veugeance,' 'etc. It was the sam thunderstorm. Sinai was but a hurrie rehearsal of it. Never didthe gree fields and hedges hear such torrent-roa, of denunciation. Tile wonder is tha they did not shrivel up and wittier away The fact is they seemed tot ike it, for lark ntounted high over ouheads, and fixing himself in the bluest sky, he trill ed a lay that comforted us like a bene diction. In another village I continue my first sermon. All was in the ore air. The third occasion was an evenln twilight. ?11y pulpit was a large bloc of stone or wood at the door of a wheel wright's shop. There was no one wh could begin a tune, so I commenced th service with Doxology, and utterly fail ed to make a common -meter tune fit long -meter hymn. Some niracles ar beyond even the skill of open -ab preach ers under twenty years of age. Th tune failed, but the sermon went line a equinoctial gale. .I never had a bette time. The villagers crowded around me and implored me to come again. The was my call to the ministry." The Death of Moreau, The Emperor Alexander, surrounde by a far too numerous staff, attract° the ;attention of the enemy. About on o'clock a French battery sent severs volleys of cannon ball among us, taus' ing great disorder. Marshal 11lorea said to the czatr: "Sire, they are linin upon you. Your person is too useful,an particularly, as we are obliged to retrea in consequence of the faults cotnmittei yesterday,last night, and even this morn' ing. I entreat your majesty to avoid danger in which there is Ms glory gala' ed by braving, and whose results may plunge your subjects and your allies i tike greatest despair." The Emperor understood that then was nothing inure to be done; lie turne Ids bridle and s lid: "Pass, Field Mar shal," At the same instant a canno. shot frou► a French battery very nee. struck Moreau on the right knee,travers ed his (horse, and carried away the ca of the left leg, Rapatel, who was talk, ing with me, threw himself from ti' horse in order to pick up his former gen' eral. I also drew near, and heard hi utter the words,"Dead, dead."—The Em' pire and the Restoration.—Gen. Roche: chouart. A Dig Timekeeper. The new clock at St. Paul's cathedra was made by Smith & Son, of Derby and ie fitted with the double three -le gravity escapement, designed by Lore Grimthorpe, which has proved to be they hestghoice of the kind for large clocks,] The pendulum is 15 feet long, and weighs 7 cwt. The old bell, known freed the name of the maker as the Phelps bell` is again used for striking, and the ole bells for the quarters, but they have beer raised higher inthe lautern. The Phelps bell weighs 5 tons 4 cwt. Alm hammer weighs 2 cwt. There allf now three faces to the clock, a new one having been inserted to look down Cannon street. The full diameter Atha dials g,,4,7 feet, and the central Dg4,that is the space within the figure ring—is 10 feet, The figures are2 feet 9 inches long, and the hands are of copper, specially shaped tgresist wind and suow. The minute hand is 9 feet S inches long, and the hour stand 5 feet long. The weights are carp ried on steel ropes, and weigh half a ton such. The clock requires winding every day, and by an ingenious arrangement the clock itself stops the winding whet about to strike.—English Mechanic. Fireside Companions. "I've been lying low for some tittle now," said the Fire; "and I believe this is a good chance to go out." "01, no you don't I" said the Coal, in the janitor dumped the hod; "I'tn on to you!"