Democratic Sentinel, Volume 12, Number 16, Rensselaer, Jasper County, 11 May 1888 — Page 6

LITTLE BOY BLUE BY EUGENE FIELD. The little toy dog is covered with dost, But sturdy and staoch he stands, And the little toy soldier is red with rust, ' And his musket molds in hi* hands. "Time was when the litt o toy d »g was new And the soldier was passing fair. And that was the time when our Little Boy Blue Kissed them and put them there. •Now don’t you ro till I come!" he said ; “And don't you make any noise !* So toddling ott to his trundle ued He dreamt of the pretty toys And as he was dreaming an angel song Awakened our Little Bov Blue— Ob ! the years are many, the years are long. But the little toy friends are true. Ay, faithful to Little Boy Blue they stand, Each in the same old place, Awaiting the touch of a little hand, The smile of a little face. And they wonder, as waiting these long years through In the dust of that little chair, What has become of our Little Boy Blue Since he kissed them and put them there —America.

WITHOUT A WORD IN ANSWER.

BY W. H. B. MILLS.

She is sitting in the garden under the apple-trees, and a very pretty picture she makes. At least, Harry Shores thinks so, as he "walks quietly up the path and over to where she is sitting. “I don’t see why you sigh, Miss Nettie. There cannot surely be any application in that song to yourself.” “How your voice startled me, Mr. Shores! I did not see you coming, on .account of the intervening trees.” As she says this Nettie looks up at him, vainly trying to suppress the blush that rises to her face.

/“Of course there isn’t,” she continues, referring to his remarks. “I was not thinking of myself, and suppose I sighed unconsciously. ” “I didn’t think it could apply to such a heartless little coquette,” says Harry, holding her little brown hand a trifle longer than necessary. Noticing this, Nettie draws it away, and Shores throws himself on the grass at her feet. While they are talking we will take a picture of them, Harry Shores is unquestionably handsome. A perfect blonde, tall, well formed, and features as finely cue as those of the purest cameo. He is the only son of a very wealthy widow lady who is spending the summer at 'Chicago. Harry has been with her 'until about three weeks ago, when he suddenly tired of the round of fashionable gay ety he was indulging in, and bidding his mother a hasty good-by, he ■ started off, and soon found himself in a quiet little village. Upon questioring different ones, he was directed t > Leach’s pleasant farm-house, where he received a cordial welcome. Of course the plain though comfortable room, with the great featherbeds, was something very novel to this fashionable young gentleman; still everything was so sweet and clean that he rather liked it. and decided to stay cs long as he was contented. At first he ■thought a few days would suffice; but when he caught glimpses of his kind jhost’s pretty daughter he changed his anind. Nettie Leach is, indeed, pretty enough to attract anyone, either young or old. She is just eighteen; a pretty, slight, girlish figure, short black hair «curling all over her proud little head -and low, white forehead; a small, nose, and the sweetest little mouth in the world. But best of all are the beautiful gray eyes, that one minute flash as she says something unusually saucy, and the next grow sad and tender as she listens to some touching story that awakens all the ■sympathy of her warm, womanly nature. “Come, don’t be so industrious, Miss •Nettie,” says Harry, as be tries to take the sewing from her. “I want you to come for a row, as it is too lovely an afternoon to stay away from the water.” And he looks at her with a coaxing ex--pression that she—poor little girl—cannot resist. So they start off across the fields, and soon reach a very pretty lake nestling in the midst of Mr. Leach’s broad acres. Unmooring a dainty little boat just large enou h for two, they get in . and are soon seen skimming over the water by Harry Shores’ master strokes. After a while he stops, and resting on -his. oars looks up to find Nettie’s beautiful eyes fixed on him with an expression in them he never before. *Of what are you thinking, little

’VE just been learning the lesson of life. The sad, sad lesson of loving; And all of its powers, for pleasure or i pain, | Been slowly and sadly proving. Here the sweet, girlish voice falters, and Nettie Leacn sighs as she picks up her sewing again.

i girl? You are not half as merry as usual.” As he asks this, a strange feeling comes over him, and he suddenly reali izes why he has been so contented dur- ' ing the last two weeks. Yes, he loves her; not as he has thought he loved a dozen other girls, to tire of them iu a week, but with the strong, overmasterly love that comes but once in a lifetime. 'He longs to hold her in his arms and teH her of it, but thoughts of his proud, haughty mother drive back the words; so he only takes her little hand in his as he waits for her answer. “I was thinking,” says Nettie, in her i low, sweet voice, “how much I shall ’ mi«B you when yon really go, and how ! very pleasant the last two weeks have ' been.” This was too much for him to withstand, and in another moment Harry’s I arm is around her, and Nettie’s curly head is pillowed on his breast. “My darling little girl,” and his voice is inexpressibly tender as he speaks, “do you realize how dearly I love you, and can you feel any of that deep love for me ?’’ “Harry, I fear you already know that I do. ” And Nettie’s glorious eyes look bravely and tenderly up at him. They sit quietly talking for a while, I till finally the sinking of the sun in the , west reminds Nettie that she has I household duties to attend to; and so ! Harry rows her back to the land, and J they return to the house. In the evening, after the farmer and ' his wife have retired, the lovers nave a long talk, and Harry explains to Neti tie that it is best not to tell her par- ! ents of their engagement till he has ar- . ranged everything with his mother. “She has already selected a great I belle for me to marry, darling, and it may be rather difficult to convince her ; that I shall be far happier with my dear little Nettie.” “Are you sure you will be, Harry?” asks Nettie, looking at him rather wistfully. “My dear little girl, when I am not I contented a moment away from you I am sure I would never be happy with ■ Rena White,” answers Harry, kissing the sweet lips so near his own.

Two more weeKs pass, which they enjoy to the utmost, when at the end of that time a telegram arrives, telling Harry of the dangerous illness of his mother, and asking him to return at once. “I can’t bear to have you go, Harry. I feel as if something would happen to keep you from me.” And tears dim the brightness of her eyes as Nettie says this. “What a fanciful little girl you are!” he answers, as he kisses them away. “Don’t you know, my darling little girl, that nothing could do that?” Finally the good-bys are said and he is gone. Arriving in Chicago he goes directly to the house at which his mother is staying, to find her indeed very ill. The doctors say a trip to tbe seashore is all that can save her, and so he goes without seeing his lift e fiancee. To be sure, he writes her a loving good-by. Still she is sorely disappointed. At the time of Harry Shores’ first coming to the farm-house, there were several of the neighboring fanners’ sons who paid Nettie a great deal of attention. Of course she received them graciously enough; still she had never cared particularly for them. There was one, an exceedingly well-to-do young farmer, who had loved Nettie all his life. He worked a very fine farm, and Mr. Leach and his wife wanted Nettie to marry him; still, when he proposed and was refused, they thought too much of their daughter’s happiness to urge the matter. He felt bitter about it, and Harry Shores’ coming only added fuel to the flame, especially when he saw how much the latter and Nettie were together. 9 He always brings the letters from the postoffice to Mr. Leach, so when letters come from Harry Shores it is a very easy matter to keep them. At first Nettie thinks Mrs. Shores’ illness prevents Harry writing; but, as the weeks wear on, she begins to grow heartsiex. Once or twice the farmer and his wife say it is strange they never hear from Harry, but finally they cease thinking of him. Not so poor Nettie; each week finds her long ng more and more, and for some word that will tell her she is remembered and loved. But time passes on; autumn, winter, and spring come and go, and it is once more beautiful June. Nettie is again sitting in the garden, but -now there is no song upon her lips, and there is a sadness in her beautiful eyes that never u*ed to be there. Finally the door of the farm-house opens, and kind, moth-

erly Mrs. 'Leach comes out There is an anxious look on her face as she sees her daughter. A few weeks before, on being questioned, Nettie told her mother about her engagement to Harry Shores, and of his strange silence during the months of his absence. The kind mother said nothing to reproach her, as she pitied her too much for that. “Nettie, dear,” she says, as she reaches her, “why don’t yo.i go for a row or a walk or something? I hate tc see you sitting quietly thinking all the time. Go, darling, find some amusement; see some of the youug people, and forget about Harry Shores, for he is not worth one of your pure thoughts. ” “Don’t, mother dear! I can’t bear to hear you speak bitterly of Harry. Remember I love him, and cannot, will not, believe anything against him.” “Nettie’s impetuosity brings the color to her face, but as it recedes, leaving it so white, its delicacy is very perceptible. She is very fragile these days, so different from the rosy-cheeked little beauty of last summer. “I don’t understand how you can believe in his love after a year’s silence, ” says Mrs. Leach, but regrets it instantly as she notices the pained expression on her daughter’s face. “I will not try to explain, but I have perfect faith in him if I wait for years or forever. ” Saying this, Nettie leaves the seat and walks toward the lake. Arriving there and feeling tired after the exertion of walking, she lies down under the trees, where she soon falls asleep. An hour has passed aw’ay, when the perfect stillness is disturbed by a step, and Harry Shores comes in view. He is sun-burned, and the careless look hitherto seen on his face is gone. As he looks down at Nettie, looking so pure and sweet before him, a something shakes his strong young frame. Whose treachery is it that has made the changes in that bright, sweet face? He has just come from the house, where everything has been explained on both sides; how he has written continually without receiving a word in reply, and that his mother’s illness had kept him at her side until death released him, after nearly a year elapsing. He had then hurried to Nettie, to have everything explained. As he looks on her, a great longing to take her in his arms almost overmasters him, when Nettie, moving in her sleep, murmurs: “I knew you would come, Harry, in spite of your never writing.” In an instant she is in his arms, and awaking, looks once more on his loved face. “Harry,” is all she says, and then quietly faints away. He carries her to the house, and she is laid in her bed, from which she does not rise for six weeks. Brain fever confines her, and from her wild ravings they learn of the fearful sufferings she endured so patiently. Finally consciousness and strength return, and she is carried down-stairs for the first time just a year from the day she met Harry chores. During their conversation it dawns upon Nettie that Fred Green must be responsible for all her sufferings; but she is so happy now that she insists nothing shall be done to him. “Everything is explained, now, dear Harry, and his conscience must reproach him more bitterly than ever we could do.” And Nettie looks at him pleadingly. “Of course you will have your own ■tfay, my darling, and if the color will only return to these dear little white cheeks I will forgive him,” answers Harry, tenderly kissing the cheeks in question until there is a good deal of color in them. In a few weeks Nettie’s health is fully recovered, and then there is a quiet wedding in the little parish church. The snn never shone on a lovelier bride than Nettie Leach makes as she stands at the altar in her simple white dress and veil, and gives herself into Harry Shores’ keening forever. “We will have elegance afterward.” Harry says, as he insists on her simple dress. I want you to come to me as I found you—a sweet little wayside flower. ”

“Rough on Rabbits.”

Pasteur’s proposal to rid Australia of its rabbit plague by infecting the rabbits with chicken cholera has met with deservedly severe criticism on the ground that, as pointed out by the Medical Standard (Chicago), these lower organisms on which chicken cholera and other contagions depend develop objectionable peculiarities under Australian conditions. Another 1' renchman has discovered that a parasite which causes wasting disease in man will produce tubercular disease in hares; and it is “on the cards” that he, too, may compete for the Australian rabbit prize by introducing this disease among the bunnies. The circle will be complete when the Australian rabbit, infested wdh strongylus by the sensational Frenchman, is unsuspectingly eaten by the Australian stockman only to find himself the victim of anchylostromosis.

A Dreadful Threat.

An Austin colored man, with protruding eyes, rushed into Justice Tegener’s office and exclaimed: “I wants Col. Jones, who libs nex* door to me, put under a million dollars’ bonds ter keep de peace.” “Has he threatened your life?” “He has done dat berry ding. He said he war g’wme ter fill de nex’ niggah he found after dark in his henhouse plum full ob buckshot.”—Texas Sijtings. The work of civilizing our Indians progresses grandly. They are becoming proficient cowboys.

HUMOROUS NUGGETS.

Time gallops under the spur of the moment., A gambleb may be ace society man. —Texas Siftinqs. A rain drop—storm scene on a stage curtain. Texas Siftings. The girl who loves William never asks her father to foot her Bill. When a baker goes on strike it is not incorrect to allude to him as a loaf-er. He (ardently)—“l’d give a million pounds to win your love, Adelaide.” “She—“ Cash ?” z. are-Bits. You seldom bear a man sing “Hone. Sweet Home,” on the night before the rent day.— ooston Courier. Ir is rather infrequently that a tailor is elected to Congress,'but a good one knows all about men and measures.— New Haven News. Visitor—Have you a dumb waiter in the house? Lady of the house —No; but we’ve got the dumbest hired girl you ever saw.— Washington Critic. When an Arab of the desert wants to inquire if his sister is going to leave home for a while, he says, “Are you going oasis?”— Pittsburgh Chronicle. Somebody suggests that it is useless to go to the expense of buying works on Volapuk. The dialect stories in the magazines will answer all praccal purposes.— Kansas City Journal. “I wish I knew what to preach about next Sunday.” said Rev. Mr. Smoothtext. “Preach against the evils of riches,” suggested the elder; “there isn’t a man in our church worth over $3,000. ” — Burdette. “Mo’nin’, Mistah Grubbleson; a col’ mo’nin’.” “Yah, indeed; know anyt’ing how col’ twas las’ night?” “’Bout ’ninch an’ a half b’low freezin’—at leas’ de ice froze dat tick on a tub o’ watah I let’ stan’in’ out all night.”— Harper's Bazar. Jeweler (exchanging ring for cuff buttons) —Didn’t the young lady like the ring, sir? Young man (mournfully —She didn’t have a chance. It struck me that a $lO ring was too expensive for a mere sister-to-you sort of girl.— Epoch. Art dealer (descanting on the virtues of the picture)—You will oberve, sir, that the drawing is free, .j at Agriculturist—Well, if the drawin’ is free, an’ you don’t tax me too much for the frame, b’gosh, I’ll take it.— Epoch. Tramp (piteously)—Please help a poor cripple. Kind old gent (handing him some money)—Bless me, why, of course. How are you crippled, my poor fellow? Tramp (pocketing the money)—Financially crippled, sir.— —New York Sun. Old Friend—ls it possible you have remained unmarried all these years, Bella? Miss Bella—Yes; but 1 ha e been contemplating that picture of Ruth and Boaz, and have not yet given up all hope. Old Friend—Ah, but it will be difficult to get such a 80-az Ruth had.— Harper* s Bazar. A subscriber asks an Indiana editor, who had been “blowing up” some of the European monarchies, if he ever saw a king. To which the editor replied : “We saw four kings last night, but the gentleman who held tuem charged us ten dollars for a glace at them.” In view of this, who shall say that the Hoosier editor is incompetent “write up” a monarch. — Arcola Hee,d.

The Secret of the House.

On the Palisades, back of Hoboken, stands a queer-looking building, in the center of a big hollow, just off a street, and not more than 300 feet from the bluff. Everything about the place is mysterious looking, and a superstitious stranger would at once feel convinced that it was a haunted house, the scene of some dark and bloody crime. People are seen at times going in and coming out of the house, and years ago this fact and the general air of secrecy gave rise to rumors of a band of robbers, etc. Then it was whispered that whisky was being distilled there, the proprietors neglecting the formality of paying tribute to the Government. Indeed so strong did this impression become that the revenue officials began to watch the place. Finally they made a raid, but their search proved fruitless, for nary a drop of liquor could ♦•hey find, nor hide nor hair of anything aring the remotest resemblance to a .11 But they found who the people in the mysterious house were and what they did for a living. The eldest in the party was a Frenchman, and he had discovered a method of growing mushrooms, it was to his interest to preserve his secret; hence the loneliness of the house and the mysterious movements of its occupants. To this day, winter and summer, mushrooms are grown there and find their way to the tables of hotels all over the' country.— New York Telegram.

At the Ball.

Young lady (decidedly decollete)— Good evening, Mr. Gray—you don’t know me, I guess. Old gentleman—No—er—what! This can’t be Joe Barker’s daughter, Fanny? “Yes, it is. I have changed some since you saw me last.” . “You have, indeed, Fanny. You’ve grown quite out of your gown, I declare. ” — Boston Transt ript.

No, He Wasn’t Ashamed.

Minister (to little boy with a basket of fish) Little boy, aren’t you ashamed to go fishing on the Sabbath day? Little Boy (lifting the cover of the basket with conscious pride) Ashamed? Look at them!— Tid~Bits.

Don’t hawk, and blow, and spit, but use Dr. Sago’s Catarrh Remedy. Even Solomon in all his glory was not arrayed like Berry Wall.— Life. “ROUGH ON NEURALGIA.” #l. Druggists, “Bough ox Rheumatism. ’ $1.50. Druggists. “ROUGH ON ASTHMA." $1.50. Druggists. “BOUGH ON MALARIA.” $1.50. Druggists, or prepaid by Express. E. S. Wells, Jersey City.

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