Decatur Democrat, Volume 27, Number 5, Decatur, Adams County, 4 May 1883 — Page 4

THE CHIMNEY’S SONG. BY BRET HARTB. Over the chimney the nisrht wind sang. And the chanted melody no one knew; And the woman stopped as her babe she tossed. And thought of the one she had long since lost. And said, as her teardrops back she "I hate the wind in the chimney/ Over the chimney the night wind *ang, And chanted the melody no One knew; And the children said, a* they closer drew, " *Tis some witch that is cleaving the black night thrnimh—*Tis a tairy that just then blew, And we fear the wind in Mtv chimney." Over the chimney th® bight wind sang, \nd chanted a melody no one knew; Ami the men, rr he sat on his hearth below, baid to htln elf : “It will surely snow. And fuel is dearer and wages 1 w— And I’ll stop the leak in the chimney." Over the chimney the night wind sang. And chanted a melody no one knew; But the poet 'istened ami smiled, for he Wan ma . woman and child—all three. And he s; “It is God’s own harmony. The wind that sings in the chimney." Mrs. Raymond’s Kitty ; Or, a Bohemian Girl. BY MAY FORD LAUREL. “Mrs. Raymond’s Kitty, sir,” says James. A hot, burning morning in June—that month of roses, and dust, and burning heat. Scene —a street where the sun glistens fiercely upon sharp area railings, basks on shining leaden roofs and wilts the gay flowers in the gardens — poor faded beauties, they bang down their heads on their frail stalks, or lean languidly against the dry, rocky pyramidal “mounds” that occupy a prominent place in every wellkept garden! Jack Everett looks out from one of the side windows of his boarding-house parlor, and surveys the street without, the garden below and the residence pertaining to the garden: or, to speak more correctly, the residence to which the garden pertains. Heat—baking, burning, melting heat —reigns over all. The lace curtains in the neighboring parlor windows hang limp and motionless, unstirred by the faintest breeze; in the dusty street two huckster women, whose toilers are gotten up with a delightful disregard for conventionalities, stroll lazily on, forbearing to extol their wares; a dog, with limp-tail and sweeping ears, passes disconsolately by, evidently in search of a shady spot: a portly old gentleman toils down the sidewalk, brushing the drops from his bald forehead, with a damp cambric handkerchief. Heat -—fierce, oppressive heat—everywhere. But, in the midst of it all, there rises a voice—sweet, swelling, clear and cool; cool as the flow of a rivulet, that slips, and slides, and bubbles, and ripples somewhere, under a dark roof of hanging boughs, where no burning sunshine can enter in; a fearless, free voice, bursting ont from somebody’s heart, there by the open street, singing a fragment from Balfe, with exquisitely musical defiance. Jack Everett, in mingled astonishment and pleasure —he is a lover of melody—leans further out of the window, listening intently. And then the door opens and James enters (the genteel, irreproachable, debonnaire James always found in the orthodox boardinghouse), and, seeing Jack’s bewilderment, smiles in a superior way. “Mrs. Haymond’s Kitty, sir,” he observes. “Mrs. Raymond's what?” inquires Jack. “Kitty, sir,” James explains, amiably. “A housemaid she is, and a werry nice young woman to look at, and quite well-behaved; which she is werry lively, however, sir;” and, with a parting smile, James vanishes. The song had ceased, and Jack turns from the window with a feeling of disappointment. “ A housemaid; ‘ a werry nice young ■woman,’ the possessor of that voice! It is against the laws of nature,” thinks Jack. , Jack Everett is a law student and the possessor of an independent, though not extensive, fortune. He goes into the best society of his native town and is gladly received there. He is an orphan and his own master. For the rest, he has seen but two-and-twenty years, is tall and straight and blueeyed, with a fair and frank face and winning smile. He cannot be styled a brilliant, far less an industrious student ; but he is true and manly, lighthearted and happy, and, unconsciously and without the least effort, wins the good will and admiration of those about him. Instead of burying himself like a bookworm among his calfskin volumes, he flaunts like a butterfly at balls, garden-parties and tennis clubs, where gushing misses adore him, flirt with him, fall in love with him, pet him and make much of him, and where the young men call him a capital fellow and a jolly boy. Jack is still in full possession of his heart, but common fame has seen fit to bestow it upon Miss Lilias Raymond, a young lady eligible in every way and as dark and dignified as Jack, is fair and merry, aid therefore a suitable match for Him. Jack, who is a chivalrous young man, and utterly callous and hardened to the persistent tanterings of his friend •■, never contrauieted this report, while Miss Lilias receives the insinuations and innuendoes of her companions with an amiable silence, supposed to give consent. lu point of tact, the lady has tried valiantly enough to take by storm or by stratagem the heart of the handsome young barrister that is to be; but Jack being rather an obstinate youth, has refused to yield it up, and still remains fancy free. Lilias is about Jack’s age, the only child of a banker lately deceased. and resides with her mother, the Mrs. Raymond above mentioned as the proprietress of Kitty. When Jack took up his abode in the boarding-house adjacent to Mrs. Raymonds domains, Mrs. Grundy was heard to observe that the young man was not without intentions. On the afternoon of the same day upon which Jack heard the housemaid’s song, having become aweary of legal researches, and arriving at the conclusion that he needs relaxation and rest, the hopeful young law-student goes to call upon the Raymonds. Their residence is very near, and Jack, who is of rather an indolent temperament, objects to long walks. At the door he is met by Charles, who tells him that the ladies arc hout, but that they will soon be bin, and remarks that perhaps Mr. Heverett will walk hup. Mr. Everett walks up, and into Mrs. Raymond’s drawing-room. The apartment opens upon a little balcony by a French window, and, being well acquainted with the pictures, scrap-looks and albums scattered about, Jack goes to the window and looks out. And seated on the balcony steps he sees a voung lady—the youngest of young ladies—the sweetest embodiment of sweet sixteen, her form of sylph-like loveliness, her attitude one of„ careless grace, one tiny foot peeping out from the folds of her dress. A critical eye might notice that the dress—a pink i print— is sadly faded, and that the little boot has a hole in it; but Jack’s gaze is bent upon the glory of golden chestnut hair, that falls in waves, and rings and curls over her shoulders—the lovely head bowed over the needlework of some sort, which she holds in her hands—the soft outline of a blushrose cheek. A book falls from an etagere by the window, accidentally pushed off by Jack’s arm. and the young lady turns round, and Everett sees that her features are perfect; her lips exquisite in their bloom, and dimpled loveliness; her forehead broad and white, and half

covered by tumbled, golden curls; her eyes sweet and starry. “It is not polite to stare at any one,” savs the beauty, delivering this piece of information coolly. “I beg your pardon,” says Jack, blushing ingenuously, “but I couldn’t help it. There is no one here to introduce ns, so, may I introduce myself? I am Jack Everett.” “I know who you are,” says the young lady, severely. “I’ve seen you before. ” “Have you?” says Jack. “Pretty queer, because I’ve never seen you; if I had I shouldn’t have forgotten you, Are you staying here ?” “l am;” with a delicious smile. “Glad to hear it,” says Jack, “because I live next door. ” “I know that, too,” remarks his companion, smiling again, this time with an amused, rather mocking expression on her curling lips. “You frighten me,” says Jack. “You seem to know all about me, and I know nothing at all of you, except—you haven't even told me your name”—with j an accent of deep reproach. “Why should I?” coquettishly. “Because I want to know it,” says Jaek, eagerly. “Haven’t I introduced myself? I’m waiting for you to do the same.” “Wait awhile,” amiably; “some other time I will —perhaps.” “What a little flirt she is!” thinks Jack. She is standing before him, looking down a little and playing with a pink moss-rose in her belt. “Give me that flower, won’t you?” says Jack, softly and almost timidly. He is not constitutionally timid. The i girl smiles, and takes it from her belt and holds it up. But as Jack bends j down to take it, he sees her flush crimson and crush the flower back into her little hand. “No, I will not,” she says. “I would not give it to you for the world!” And so saying, she drops the ini offending blossom over the balustrade. Jaek is not accustomed to being treated ,iu this way. For an instant, he is in- | clined to feel indignant; then, conqueri ing this short-lived wrath, he runs down i the steps, picks up the rose, and, ■ crushed and dirty thing as it is, he lays ■ it, rather tenderly, in his wasteoat | pocket. Returning to his former place, he regards the wayward fairy in away that is half-triumphant, half-embar-rassed. “Do you sing, Mr. Everett?” she says at last, to break the growing silence. “Never could turn a tune in my life,” savs Jaek, franklv. “Do vou?” “Yes.” “Do sing for me, then,” says Jack, glancing toward the piano within, i “Come!” offering his arm and inwardly ; hoping that she will take it. “Not much!” is the elegant reply he receives. Jaek reflects that this is not a phrase employed by the young ladies of his i acquaintance. Then he wonders why it is not, since it is a thing so consum- ! mately bewitching on the lips of t>is one. “Mr. Everett!” she says suddeni ly. “I am going to introduce ■ myself to you!” “I am all attention,” i says Jack. And then the young lady i casts down her sweet eyes with intense l humility, and executes a courtesy—one of those peculiar, bobbing courtesies I which domestics are wont to make in ; the presence of their betters. “If you J please, sir, I’m the housemaid, and my name is Kitty!” A feeling of shame takes possession of Jack’s breast; he is quite-silent. Then he says impulsively and thoughtlessly, “I can’t believe you I” “How much less polite,” observes Kitty, apparently adI dressing herself to the cat, who sits on the step, blinking intelligently, “a gen- ■ tieman is to a servant girl than to a 'young lady!” Then turning to Jack: “I am the "housemaid, Mr. Everett; I lam indeed. ” And thep she laughs—a laugh that is full of sweet merriment, and yet has in it a distant ring of pain. “Are you not ashamed of yourself to have talked so to a servant girl, a housemaid ? Good-by!” And before Everett has time to speak one word, she ! flies down the balcony steps, through the garden gate and is lost hopelessly in tlie labyrinthine domains of the kitchen. A servant girl! This proudlooking beauty who might have been The daughter of a hundred Earls, I to see her Partician grace, her flowerlike loveliness, her curling lips and | flashing eyes, and the “golden glory of ; her hair!” A servant girl! One of : those beings who sweep and dust uproariously, in short gowns and caps; who bring a young man his shaving , hot-water every morning, and suggest j that they be “tipped” in return; who coquette with stable-boys, and are proud to be winked at by the more elevated butlers and footmen; who insist upon their “Sundays out,” and, if allowed, entertain their “fellow” in the kitchen of nights! A rustle and sweep of drapery; Miss Lilias Raymond enters the parlor, dignified, but complaisant. But somehow Jack is less talkative than usual, and his visit rather a short one. It is July now. A month has passed away; the fine roses are all gone, and the air is sultry and heavy. A month has passed; a month of tormenting thoughts and an uneasy conscience; of delicious day-dreams and exquisite visions, and idle, dreamy flights of fancy; of hopes and fears, and illogical reasonings and inward battles of mingled misery and delight; of resolutions made to-day to be broken to-morrow; a ■ month of all these things to Jack Everett, who loves with all his brave young heart his neighbor’s servant-girl, Kitty. He has not seen her very often; now and then she would pass through the Raymond garden or yard, and his I heart would beat wildly as he watched the sweet vision from his open window. At first he had looked at her beauty as at the loveliness of a flower, and with as little thought of danger. Then he sought —a stubborn but unavailing tight | —against the fact that she had grown dear to him; that he loved the little i servant girl as well as if she had chanced a scion of the upper-ten, or he himself a James or Charles in the under-gardening line. Several times ' he has spoken to her across the wall that lies lietween the Raymond yard and the domains of his boarding-house, but no ord or hint of love has ever passed his lips in her presence, for he is manly and true and chivalrous. He has only spoken to her with gay friend- i liness, or with respectful if rather tender courtesy; andJie thinks her the sweetest and truest woman the world : holds. But a servant girl! Poor Jack': He did not dream at first that Kitty had ' the power to steal his heart, but she has stolen it. It is gone, never to be recalled. He knows, now, that he loves her—he half resolves to go away and try to forget her. Forget her! Never, while his heart still l>eats with life! And he chafes under the thought of Kitty’s blissful ignorance—is it ignor- j ance—of her conquest, and insanely : longs to throw himself at her feet -her pretty little feet, in their tiny worn boots—to rise again at her word and take her into his own loving care ever after. Then comes the bewildering thought that perhaps she will not love him—will never love him. In this frame of mind, one fair July morning, he strolls into the yard, and up to the old brick wall, overgrown with damp ivy. Not a very high wall; for, whereas it is higher than Kitty’s golden-brown head, it only reaches tall Jack's breast, and permits that young gentleman to lean on it with some 1

' comfort. Looking across Mrs. RayI inond's grass-planted yard, Everett sees I Kitty coming, her shining curls uncov- : ered in the sunlight, her rounded arm ; bare to the elbow, where her print sleeves are jauntily tucked up, and in her shell-pink fingers a wet handful of Miss Lilias Raymond's tine laces, which she begins put out to dry on the grass. “Good-morning, Kitty,"” says Jack. “Good-morning,” says Kitty, smiling brightly up at him. She is kneeling on the grass, close by the wall, pulling out and shaking tenderly the costly laces intrusted to her care. “What pretty hair you have, Kitty,” ; says Jack, irrelevantly, and quite involuntarily, “and how prettily you’fix it!” . He seldom pays her a compliment. “I Wear it this way," says Kitty, serenely, “because Miss Lilias says I must not. “Is Miss Lilias kind to you, Kitty?” asks Jack, hastily, ignoring the fact that Kitty's naive avowal expresses any- : thing but amiability. “Not very,” she : says, flushing hotly, and, half turning away, she shrugs her pretty shoulders. As she does this Jaek, who is looking ; earnestly at her, sees a gleam of gold shine through the parted kerchief at her throat. “Is that a locket ?” asks Everett. “Y es, is it not a pretty one?” drawing it from the kerchief where it has lain hidden, suspended by the narrowest of narrow ribbons. “Let me look at it,” says Jaek. “Suppose my sweetheart's picture is in it?” says Kitty naughtily. I Jack’s fair face darkens. “I didn’t know you had a sweetheart,” he says, j rather sharply, for him. “Do you I think you know everything. Sir. Evi erett?” asks Kitty. “Because I don’t.” “Good morning,” says Jack curtly, turning away. Bitt when he has takeii two long, indignant steps, he turns, recalled by a sweet, laughing young voice, amt a lovely, smiling face, a little hand. “Come back, Mr. Everett, and look at my locket !” And Mr. Everett comes back, and finds Kitty standing on tiptoe by the wall, ana holding out the locket in question. “You remind me of Miss Lilias this morning,” remarks Kitty. “You are so cross and horrid, you. know.” Mr. Everett is employed with the locket, so does not reply to Kitty's complimentary observation. It is a heavy gold medallion, and on its back, in small diamonds, is the name “Katherine Earle LennoX.” Where did poor little Kitty get such a costly i thing? Within, for Jack opens quickly the tiny spring, is a picture, not Kit ty's sweetheart, but that of a girl, a face wonderfully like her own, only a little older and graver—a little less [ lively, perhaps. “I think that was my i mother’s face,” says Kitty, wistfully. Jaek looks tip from the locket with a smile— he is deeply relieved that the picture within it is not that of Kitty’s mythical sweetheart. “Kitty,” he says, “voudon't remember your parents at all? 5 ’ “I have never heard of them,” says poor Kitty*. “I do not even know their names. But I think that is the picture of my mother. She looks like a lady, does she not?” “Shedoes,” says Jack. “Kitty, tell me about your childhood, as far back as vou can remember.” The last of the laces have been hung out; Kitty clasping her slim fingers leans against the ivy, and Jack is bending over her. Neither knows that, from an upper window, Lilias Raymond’s hard, dark eyes are watching them. “I remember, ’ says Kitty, “of being on a great vessel—l think that is the farthest back of all—and seeing the ocean aronnd, and noisy, merry young sailors on board, and ladies wuo would smile at me when I passed them iu playing on the deck; and a tall, darkeyed man. who frowned at me, and of whom I felt afraid. Then I recollect living in a cottage, a pretty place with flowers about it. It must have been out in tne country, for 1 do not turns there was another house iu sight. I lived with an old woman, who was very kind to me; and one servant, a boy. I never saw any one else, except when a gentleman, I think he was the same I saw on the vessel, came sometimes. I was very happy there, though: I used to play all day long under the trees, and I always wore this locket. When I was still a little child, the old woman died, and (as I was told afterward) the doctor who attended her took me to the Orphan Asylum in this town. I never heard his name, nor that of the place from which he brought me; but the Matron gave me my locket when I came to Mrs. Raymond. I came into her service four years ago; since then—” And Kitty laughed, and with the laugh, the old saucy bright l ness came back to her face, every shade of pensive wistfulness gone. She ran into the house, without even a parting . word, and Jack slowly turned away ■ from the wall. But an hour later, as lie lingered near a wiuj dow —Jack studied even less than ! formerly—he hears the sound of sobbing, bitter, passionate sobbing, and in an instant more he stands in his old place by the wall. Fast, heart-break-ing sobs, from Mrs. Raymond's kitchen. Utterly forgetting prudence and propriety, Jack lays one hand on the wall, and vaults over it;he strides across the yard and into his neighbor’s kitchen. There, half kneeling, in a heap upon the floor, leaning against the low win-flow-sill, her face in her hands, and veiled by her dishevelled curls, is Kitty, sobbing w ith passionate vehemence, among the pots and pans and general paraphernalia of the kitchen. Jack makes his way cautiously among these articles of domestic economy, until he stands at her side. O, to comfort her, if he only knew how! “Kitty,” says Jaek, gently, “what is the matter? Can I help you in any way?” Kitty looks up for a second, then, | having ascertained who her companion is, again hides her face, begins to sob again. “Go away,” she says from the depths of her pocket handkerchief. ‘ You had ! no business to jump over that wall and come into Mrs. Raymond’s kitchen. I wonder what she would say if she found you here?” “I came to see w hat was the matter with you,” says Jack, feeling rather injured. “Well, yon had better go and scramble over your wall again, and do it as : quickly as you can,” says Kitty, ungraciously, sobbing out her advice. Now,although the situation is a pathetic, not to say an alarming one, Jack laughs at her words. Kitty "is at first somewhat offended, but, being of a mirthful temperament, presently laughs too. Then she lifts her April face and smiles at Jack—her very sweetest smile. “Now, tell me what was the matter,” says Mr. Everett, persuasively. “There was—a row,” says Kitty, composedly. “What was the cause of it ?” inquires Jack, with much interest. “You were,” says Kitty, solemnly. “Mrs. Raymond and Miss Lilias thought that I—that you—l mean that—it was I wrong for me to talk to you. I disi agreed with them, and so there was a : row.” “Mrs. Raymond and Miss Lila*;ought to be hung, both of them,” says Jack, savagely. “Do yon really think so?" asks Kitty, deeply delighted. “So do I. Ami—shall I tellyou something, Mr. Everett ? lain going away. (Her face visibly brightening ) I want to go on the stage. Don’t you think I ean ? Do say yes! J have a g>-od voice, you know, and' I am —pretty, am I not ?” eoaxingly. She is standing before him with hands clasped, as they always are when she is i deeply earnest. Jack’s face is very .

grave. For some moments he is silent. “Kitty. I have a question to ask you,” he says. “Then why in the world don't you ask it?” apparently surprised at his stupidity. "Kitty,” says the young man, in a lower tone, “will you marry me?” Kitty’s face, very white before, now i blushes a lovely pink. No answer. “Kitty,” Says Jaek. his heart bounding and bis voice shaking a little, in his earnestness, “why don’t you answer me?" “Mr. Everett." says Kitty, severely, “I wouldn't wish to marry a housemaid, if I were you. Why don’t you ask Miss Lilias? Who knows?'She might take you.” “I wouldn’t take her, then,” says Jaek disrespectfully. “I never loved anv woman but vou, Kitty; I never will.” “Sure enough?” asks Kitty in a softer tone. “Do you really love me, Mr. i Everett?” “I do; I swear I do,” says Jack, holding her little hand tightly and sinking down on his knees before her—his sweet queen of human kind! Mis neighbor’s maid-of-all-work! Heknows that his own young life, and all the world beside, would be worthless without the little fairy before him. He loves her! "That is right,” says Kitty, with her heavenly smile. “I like you to kneel down to me. ” Two figures darken the open door, and shut out the summer breeze and Sunshine; the figures of Lilias Raymond and her mother. There, in their own kitchen, site rounded by a barricade of kitchen furniture, these ladies see their own ser- ■ vant girl, Kitty—Kitty, lovelier than ever, bright tears in her eyes, a smile on her lips and a soft blush on her cheek, and kneeling at her feet, down on their own kitc’jen floor, Jack Everett. student at law. They are silent, because their horror is too great for words. Jack, perceiving them, rises to bis feet, ve y red, and very much confused; while Kitty, overcome by mirth, in spite of her consternation, sits down on a neighboring dresser and laughs merrily. , “I am surprised to fi tidy Ou here, Mr. Everett,” gasps Mrs. Raymond, rather faintly. “It is astonishing, mamma,” observes Miss Raymond, who has now recovered her equilibrium, addressing herself to ' : her unnerved parent; “what mistaken estimates we sometimes make, in regard : to character.” “I must apologize for my presence here, Mrs. Raymond.” says the dis* comfited Jack—and then is silent again, because he does not know how to apolI ogize. “I presume you do not intend to remain here much longer," says Lilias, icily, to Kitty. “I do not, indeed, Miss Raymond,” says Kitty, who, with a woman’s quickness. has now risen to the situation. “Mr. Everett, it will not be convenient to finish out conversation just here, but (with an irrepressible smile) in case you should wish to say anything farther to me you may call at Mrs. Lindsey’s boarding house, No. —, —■ — I street.” “I will be there this afternoon. Miss Lennox,” says Jack, quickly. “Goodmorning, ladies, ” to Mrs. and Miss Raymond, who refuse to notice -his salutation; and, making a virtue of necessity, he crosses the yard and springs over the wall, iu full view of the astounded pair. * * * « • * * “By Jove!” says Jack. “What’s up, Jack?” inquires Mrs. Everett. They are seated in the private parlor of an East Lynne hotel, Jack reclining in a rocker, scanning the columns of a crisp Herald; Kitty on the window-sill, lovely in white muslin and fluttering blue ribbons, swinging ; one tiny foot in a bronze slipper, to the detriment of the papered wall. This is their honeymoon, Jack’s and Kitty’s) and they are on their wedding tour. “Kitty,” says Jack, “is your name Katharine Earle Lennox?” “It is not, ” replies the young matron, promptly. “It is Kitty Everett.” “A young woman of the name of j Katharine Earle Lennox,” says Jaek, slowly, “is requested to call at the residence of Earle Lennox, No. , —— street. New York, and hear of something to her advantage.” * * * »■ « « * “Katharine!" says Earle Lennox, : looking hard at Jack's little wife, who stands before him. Jack has taken her * to New Y'ork and to the home of “Earle Lennox.” in answer to the appeal in the personal column of the Herald. It is a luxurious mansion; blooming gardens are round it, and within great mirrors and exquisite statuary gleam, and Kit-ty's-feet sink, into the velvety carpets. But Kitty clings nervously to Jack’s arm while she waits in the spacious drawing-room for Earle Lennox. And now he stands before her—a tall, rather stern-looking man, with handsome ; features, silvered hair and hollow, dark eyes. “Katharine!” he says; “Katharine!” Kitty lays her open loeket in his ) hand. “You know this?” she falters. “I do,” he says :“I do. It holds my j wife’s face. You are my little lost daughter; the picture of your dead . . mother.” Kitty now stands upon tip-toe and ' kisses him; and the stern-looking man holds her to his breast. “How beautiful you are, my daughter,” he savs, with pardonable pride; “how perfect in every way. What a mercy of Providence it was that you were brought up like a lady—that you found friends.” “I was not brought up like a lady, papa,” says bis daughter, prettily; “and this is the only friend 1 have,” laying her hand on Jack's shoulder. i “Let me thank him for all he has done for you,” says Mr. Lennox, eagj erly. “But he looks very young—bless niv soul, ves! Who is he. Katharine?” “He is my husband,” says Kitty, : softly. "You are married?” (With evident disappointment.) “I am sorry for that, Katharine, although (looking hard at Jack) it is only justice to say, I don’t think I could have a finer-looking young fellow for a son-in-law!”. In course of time the links of Kitty’s br 'ken history were put together as well as might lie by Kitty's father. “Your mother.” he told her, “had a cousin—a hot-headed, passioqjde yourg fellow—who was in love with her when i she married me. He never forgave j Kate’s marriage. When we lost you 1 ’ w. re 1' :r years old at the time) we never thought of him, although lie left New Y'ork at the same time. A year ' later Kate died, and her cousin was still : iu the Southern States. Indeed. I never saw or even heard of him until three i months ago, when 1 was sent for. aid going to one of the depots, near which a train had been wrecked. I found him there among the wounded. I brought him home, and when he was dying he I confessed that he had stolen yon. partly out of a miserable revenge, partlv be- j cause you were almost a picture of your mother. I think his disappointment had slightly affected his brain. He told me of having paid a country woman to keep vou in a retired place; of going there to look for you and not finding yon. I have looked for you. Katharine, and I have put advertisements in every paper of importance. I wond*r you did not see them, my dear; I am afraid you do not take as much interest in the I

press as your poor mother did. If it had not been for your husband —but ho is a fine fellow, yes, sir, by Jove! ' You are a very line young fellow, and will be an honor to your profession, I am sure. ” “Unto One of the Least.” From a Russian journal we take this incident of Garibaldi) heretofore unpublished. In 18(55, writes one of his followers, he was at Caprera, a sterile little island, living in a poor cottage, with five or six devoted adherents. One day two of these young men found on a neighboring island a Cretin of 18, almost idiotic, naked and starving. They brought him to Caprera, where Garibaldi, with the tenderest care, fed, armed and gave him a home. But what to do for clothes ? Tist 1 GetP eral himself had but trousers and li short jacket, and his followers were quite as poor. He had, however, a military costume which he had kept as a souvenir of his last glorious campaign, j He took it down and looked at it regretfully. Bo much of the heroic endeavor and deed of his life was associated with it! Then he gave it to the poor Cretin. "Better comfort for Lucca than a useless souvenir! - ’ hd said. He determined, in spite of remonstrance, to educate Lucca, to try if he could awaken, not create, a sonl in this dull brain. Every day for months ho gave the idiot a lesson with untiring patience ; but the lessons were torture to the imbecile brain. Lucca would cry* and plead every day to be let off. “General." he said once, "unless you chop open niv head, you will never get those letters inside of it," Hut without lessons he absorbed the spirit of patriotism, of affection and self-sacrifice which • animated the little household. When Garibaldi embarked to open the campaign of 18(56, Lucca followed him, weeping, begging to go with -him to fight for Italy. "But you will be killed, my p»r Icoy.” “Then in paradise there will be no lessons!” said Lucca, joyfully. The General laughed. “Come on, then,” he said. The poor Cretin wore a soldier's uniform now. and fought bravely through the winter. They were in the mountains of the Tyrol and desperate fighting was done to defend the gorges. ()n the morning of the battle of Monte Stolen Lucca did not answer to the roll-call. The next day he was found dead in a narrow pass, with one of the enemy, against whom he had evidently waged a long and desperate battle. A happy smile was on his face. “Such a triumphant sniile,” says the narrator, “as we used tef see on bis face when he had finished his lessons.” When King Victor Emanuel, at the! end of the war, sent to Garibaldi for the names of those who should be especially rewarded for personal bravery, he wrote first on the list, “Lucca Spano.” The silver medal was given by Garibaldi, himself, to his sister, a poor Servant girl, who treasures it as her life-blood.— Youth'» Companion. TOLEDO. CINCINNATI & ST. LOUIS R. R. Time Table—ln EiAsct Dec. 11, 1«8?. Going West, i Western » Going East. j 7 I 5 I Division. | 6 | 8 i 77 P. M. a.m.lLv. Ar. P. M. P. M .... 830 4 56| Toledo It* Ut', 535 ... .... 12 35' 430 ....DelphOS 9 10'130 ... .... 105 457 ....Venedocia. . 847 1 Ofi .... .... 1 15' 5 08 ! ...Jonestown... 8 3712 52 .... , .... 126 521 ShastA 8 27(12 40 .... .... 132 5 ...Enterprise... 8 2112 33 .... .... 140 638 Dull 81312 25 .... .... 147 5 4-‘> ....Abanaka.... 80712 18 .... .... 153 550 ... Schumm.... 80212 13 .... .... 205 605 ... .Willshire.... 75”12 Ou .... .... 215 617 .Pleasant Mills. 74011 49 .... .... 235 6 38|.... Decatur.... 722 11 30j .... .... 249 6 35!....Peter50n.... 70711 13 .... .... 3 01* 7 081.. Curryville ... 657 11 ooj .... .... 305 7 131....Crainvi11e..,. 65310 55 .... .... 321 7 321.... Bluffton.... 637 10 39;.... .... 339 752 Liberty Centre. 620 10 20! .... .... 349 804 .. ..Boehmer.... 608 10 08; .... .... 353 808 ....Buckeye.... 605 10 05; .... .... 407 823 Warren 552 951 .... .... 432 , 8 53j..-Van Buren... 527 924 .... ... 4to 9 ool...LandessviHe.. 5 21! 915 .... .... 445 9 io' ...Hanfleld.... 317 910 .... .... 504 930 ....Marion 456 830 .... .... 522 9 43;. ..Roseburgh... 4 40. 83* .... .... 532 9 511 Herbst 4 829 .... .... 54" 9 58... .Swazey’B .... 423 8 23,.... .... 55710 14 ..Sycamore..... 407 808 .... .... 607 10 221...Greentown... 358 8 02; .... .... 635 10 50! Kokomo 3 30'7 35 .... Going Wes | I Going East. "117 7 | 5 I I 6 f 8 I 12 .... p. M. a. M. Lv. Ar.-P. M.'A. M .... 6 35,10 50 ....Kokomo .... ‘ 3 2<)| 735 ... .... i 6 4511 001... Tarkington ..• 308 725 .... .... 65211 06 ...Middletons...! 302 . 7 20| .... .... | 6 59 11 13'...Russiaville... 2 52: 7 13' .... I .... 711 11 251 Forest 2 40i 703 i .... A. mJ 7 23 11 39!.Michigantown. 2 24 6 52 P. M. 6 15: 7 45 12 00'....Frankfort.. . 20U 6 30 800 6 5«l .... M. ...Clark’s Hill 722 I 8 211 'Veedersburg *.| 535 ' 945 1.. Ridge Farm i 430 10 15! Metcalf. , 4 0G 11 00 '....Oakland 3 15 : 11 30 Maples I 2 45 I 11 45 '...Charleston | 2 30 | .... ■ Lv. As-i t .... T. A. PHILLIPS. T. H. B. BEALE, Gen. Manager. Gen. Pass. Agent. W. 8. MATTHIAS, Ass’t. Gen. Pass. Agent.

4” ’ PARKER’S ai KVUwßtoi hair 3AISAM. A pet feet dress* R’ '&Srlhr‘ t ;i> p€r 1 ' , unicd ai : h.ir-i mV ss L■-I l' ,r '’ff I-' ry Ak- 'Vj^<sa|4Hp r -' c: ■ '■ r:es - 50 ‘ ♦* aWT COLOGNE. PARKER’S MGER TONIC u an invigorating Medicine that Nfv't Intoxicates ! ■ T nis dciicioiis coniLiimiion of Ginger. D-.:* hi. ■ fl Mandrake. Stillingia ; , many o yf the | ■ vegetable remedies know::. < .res ; i tusosdeis r f ■ I the bowels, stomach, liver, s and Junes. ■ H The Bert anil far st Conr-i C'cc Ever-J'Cd. j fl If you are sufieung from ! <.:.. .'c ‘ u -S fl I N’ervoitsiK-% M akcfulness. I he; -. . r.-m 1»’ | ■ sia. age or any dhease or mfirn .t. ..e 1- r..e: s ■ | Ginger Tonic, has ill stre-th-.n Uua body I fl and give you new life ar.d vi. • R R 100 ID OLE. A TIG I Paid for anvii.riginjtirioiis found iu Ginger ionic ■ I or t X“ r Xft! i ?L“'^. e s c r-, ,1 ■ $1 > I A I I p" ppr-p’e are always on the lookout for Iflll II I chan r- iiicro -th• t1111 I r" and in time become wealthy: thu>e If I ( JI *ho do nut improve their pportu- ■ 1 I vx 1—• great chance to make m">ney. We want many men, vronjr n, tNiys and girU to work l"r us right in their own localities. Any one can do the work from the first start, the busine» will pay more than ten times the ordinary wages. Expensive outfit furnished free. Noone who engages fiitte to nuke money rapidly. You can devote your whole time to the work, cr only your spare moments. lull informatton and all tint is needed sent free. Address bn.NSOM ACo., Portland, Maine.—-C 42 Ijrr. .fSitrtt Stewart face Powder contains no mineral poison, lint or white 25 cis :i lox at Dorwio and Holthome.— No. 2rn3.

c <w Parker’s Hair Balsam. A n eiegant, agrteabU Hair Dvtzsing that Never Faits 1o Restart Cray or Faded Hair to its Youthful Color, joc. and $i sizes.

n 1 *Il OQr ■MB PRINCIPAI*UNE SHORTEST, QUICKEST and And an'*£'6>>J’EST line to St. Joacph. points In l o»:S<>r& ; V.hl W n,Tor..k».lkulXei l r 3 ska.Mls«>url.KanP«®Jg^*2. l ’»>la’ 1 a’- G * 1 ’ as, Nrw Mexico, Ariiona, tana an* 1 Texas. O U X C A O- O Lis Route has no superior for Albert . a, Minneapolis and St. 1 am. Nationally reputed as lv conceded to being the Great f- best equipped Ra, i In the Murid for aH ci isst-scf trarel. KANSAS CITY Al conn l '”‘" Tnft * le >vVs, Xz’/K In 1 ' “ Thru all TrV ’’ Tick ..vlathScy Xvx an l ™' r<-l<-brai<-d Line find trarc.lng a a, a: all oft luxur - r ' ihr V S. andZV XtyX »< « dis Canada. '” ra, “ rV /vSz i'" L - 1: " ’ ot . j'X./CX fl- . Mi-rpinu tara. A. fT ■ -<-i lv klvin l-y >■ T "l POfTEA PERCEVAL LOWELL, GRAND RAPIDS & INDIANA RAILWAY. In Effect October 13, 1882. COLt MUI S TIME. tibixif south. -■ ■ mo.e 3ESISV Cm..il. AU .lv ■' - 'Jam • < l’“ Kirill'.- >d lv 3it pin 11 10 MW Win.b.-ltr <l'J I’UpmllW IU<L-...i1:e 4SJ It m Ilf? Ih.at’ir 2 10 125 ‘.’’..J lv- 1 ’;?” 1 '- '■ .!,? 115 i?S JJJ 715 6*l 1216 pm Ka]an>a,.H» J.. -.-ar I7 50 720 UW Ka'amazoo ...lv 805 740 2 ... U1 . ' 930 350 Grand llapAb ar . ui W 950 ‘4 25 Grand Rapid* Jv 7 i'oiu 'lO 20 515 I ’ a M « r wvdng .... 1 55 10 *• 5 35 II tv ..rd City ' 9 17 UOT.pm * Kr<‘<i Cite 10 50 2 00 8 50 Cadillac... ar 12 05pm 315 ,10 10 Cadillac lv 330 jllOO Tr:: -t r- City ar : 555 •••••••• Kaikn-sKa 527 ; 1 Ham :.a . 6 01 158 !>,t ....J • (7 50 415 llarlb rSprings 11 823 !■••■■••• Mackinaw. ..J- - L ' < 00L_ Quinh sm th. / Stations— i N‘- 4. No. 6. , No. 8. ; Mild 1 ikwl lv ........■ b. »Mpm P,.yne Falls {‘ 59 1W Cadillac ar J, 1 . 4- s*> Cadillac lv ioopni;l2(fipm 6 10 Ilet fl Citv . . 513 116 ,7 45 Howard Citv’ 647 246 i 9 17 1) »• M Crewing' ? *95 414 10 37 Grand Rapkis sr 820 4 35 Grand Itapids.. ...1* 700 am s*> J Kalamazco lv •-» 05 J {ls 257 Vicksburg 9 35 7 41 iwii.lu’RiJle 1146 10 <« 6<» Fort Wavne ar 1 oopm H 20 <ls ]■< rt Wayne lv 120 6 15am 12 30am| ‘Ridgeville ! 3 :<7 ;s 31 i 3 01 • W.ucb. t<t ,-.••> ssl !3 23 Rnhniond 500 ;9 55 !4 35 I7 40 1 lOum 7 :r, ' No. 5 loaves Cincinnati and No. 8 leaves Mackinaw Ci f v daily, except Saturday. All other trains d ily cSocpt Sunday. Woodruff sleeping cars on Nos. 5 and 6 between Cincinnati and Grand Rapids, and sleeping and chair cars on same trains between Grand Rapids and Petoskey; also Woodruff sleeping cars on Nos. 7 and 8 between Grand Rapids and Mackinaw City. A. B. LEET, Gen'l. Pass. Agent. V '-*=> t. jL. jmBfiSKFJt v f t PIVGc > Bj G z-I. OuHZSS .Iff And L tho .Q J? ■ A.'T’ r w . EASY BAG GRANULATED, s Awake LON 3 CUT, Ar? thu tvzi'- nice’ 7'c >ular, Delightful rud SntiPiac.cry SMOKING TOBACPrift , 1C; Cents for 1 oz. Farkasres. ° Cincinnati. HOW WATCHES ARE MADE. In a Solid Gold Watch, aside from the necessary thickness for engraving and polishing, a large proportion of metal is needed only to stiffen and hold the engraved portions in place, and supply strength. The surplus gold is actually needless. In Jamu Bums' Patent Gold Watch Cases this WASTE is saved, and solidity and STRENGTH increased by a simple process, at one-half the cost. A plate of solid gold is soldered on each side of a plate of hard nickel composition metal, and the three are then passed between polished steel rollers. From this the cases, backs, centers, liezels, etc., are cut and shaped by dies and formers. The gold is thick enough to admit of all kinds of chasing, engraving and engine turning. These ' cases have been worn perfectly smooth by use without removing the gold. This is ' the case made under this process. Each ease is accompanied with a valid guarantee signed bg the manufacturers warranting it to wear 20 yean. 150,000 of these Cases now carried in the United States and Canada. Largest and Oldest Factory. Esc.' fished 18-51. Ask your Jeweler.

Floreston Cologne. A Nr* axt> Famrowks Pstrvwß. Fba«baxt. Eavaawnaa, Lakti'G. Sold bt Dbalbbs is Pbrftmbbt HIhCOX A CO., Ji. Y. Gbbat b aviso ix Bctixstwb “ac. Sub. Giatrer. Durhn. landrake, Stiliinsia and many of the bex medicines Known are combined in Parker's Ginger T mtc. into a medicine of such varied ana enecuve cowers. as to make it the Greatest Blood Puriner and Kidney Corrector and the Best Hea’di and Strength Restorer Ever Used. It cures Dyspepsia, Rheumatism, Neuralgia, Sleepiessnesi&and ali creases of tne Stomach. Bowels. Lungs, Liver. L rinary Organs, and all Female Complaints. w If you are wasting away with Consumonon or ar.v disease, use the Tonic to-day. It wulswaiy help you. Rememoer’ This Tonic is the Best Familv Medicine ever made. and is far superior to Bitters, Essences of Ginger nr.d other Tonics, as it never Intoxicates, and cures Drunkenness. Any dealer in drugs can supply you— roc. anol* awes. None genuine without signature of Hisccx & Co.. Chemists, N. Y. Large Saving in Bcyisg the Dollar Size..

NIBLICKj MAWFORD SONS. again made a change of base by adopting the CASH SYSTEM. From and after this date Will sell for Cash Only. We have the BIGGEST stock and FINEST selcctisn in the city. We have a fine Line of all kinds of LACE COLLARS. FICHUES AND TIES. SILK HANDKERCHIFS from $I to $2.50 a piece. LADIES’ FURS, In Setts and also Muffs and capes that we can sell sepir.it •„ 1 FIN eTFnE oFsHAWLSj In all grades from a cheap Cotton to a Brochc. gents neck we ail We have something new in that line called a Lawn l<nnjM or Bicycle Tie. Gents’ Suspenders in Silk, something beautiful for a Christmas Gift. DEPARTMENT' Is complete, we are offering a fine lino of Table ( loth's and \ .pkins to’ match, put up nicely in a box of one sett each, Towels in great variety, from 5c to each. We have a elegant line of —(Flass-wak I: In plain and engraved. Majolica-ware in Plates, Tea sells, Freit Baskets, Pitchers, Tea and Coffee Cups and Saucers, Bread Plates, Pickles. ENGLISH AND FRENCH CHINA Wc have mustache Cupsand Saucers from 40 cents to |1 each Full line of Dinner and Tea setts, in plain and decorated. Wash-stand setts from 2to 12 pieces each. In our CARPET DEPARTMENT, You can find something nice in the way of Ruggs. Matts and I Crum Cloths, in prices to suit all. WOOL BLANKETS. we defy competition, ranging in price from $1.50 to sl4 per pair. We are offering great bargains in LADIES CO A IS. I o STERS and DOLMANS to close for the seas ui—now is your chance to make a bargain. Please call and see before you make your purchase- as we , know thUt wo can do you some good. Niblick, Crawford & Sons. Look Out and Don't Forget THAT JOHN WELFLEY. is selling Groceries at less money than any other house and is bound not to be UNDERSOLD SUGAR and COFFEE L ower th»n for twenty years. COFFEES, SUGARS, TEAS. SPICES, CANDIES, SALT MEATS, FISH, SARDINES. TOBBACCOES, QUEENSWARE, CIGARS. Sugars all grades. Green and Roasted Coffees of the best quality. Fcaas —flood—Cheap—Black and Green—are one of our specialties. Sugar Cured Hams, Shoulders, Bacon and Dried Beef. Tobaccoes and Cigars in choice brands and great variety New Assortment of Lamps. Brobze, Gold and Ebony. Tubs, Buckets, Brooms and wooden ware Generally. Cut Glassware. China dinner and tea sets, a full assortmentof Queensware, White Pish, Cat Fish, Mackerel, Cod Fish, Holland Herring, and Sardines. CoL’XTIIY PRODUCE TAKEN IN EXCHANGE FOR GOODS. Come Everybody. You will find first class groceries fresh and cheap. JOHN WELFLEY. Opposite Court House. August 10, 'B2. No. 19 ts C. E. ALBERS & SON has open out in JOHN KING’S CARRIAGE SHOP A full and complete line of Family Groceries, Big Stock I o Fresh Goods, at BOTTOM PRICES and everything in the grocery line to select from. All Goods to any part of the ' City slivered Free

p\ r* HT"P n J’ IJ>IJ 9W **r’ng b v go an I IJ I V * I before you die somethin? inightv ft p I «ni aublime leave btltii. i ■•> I i I I J I Q’JW time. • 166 a j n y O!;r • * • own town. 5.5 outfit fr? X . k Everything ne*. Capital not required. We will f..inieb you everything. Many an making fortune*. Ladies make ae much as tn«-» und boys and gii’; make great pay. Header, if waul bu»iu«*M at which you can make great pay all t’»e time, write Kt particular! to B. Hau«tt a Co., Portland, Mama.

"7 -* vreefc mad« at home by JR 7 lira.. Ton car. wcrk in »P»re «>»•• rt l v h. ietime t . tb« busineM. So o«b« r r>. you n-nrly u well. No on» euerw >us p.> , by »« on<«. v at.d tmji* tree. Money made fast, ably. AJdrew TitiACo., Au«u«u,»U»»’