Saturday Evening Mail, Volume 2, Number 49, Terre Haute, Vigo County, 1 June 1872 — Page 6

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[From Pomeroy's Democrat.] ORIGIN OF MISERY. BY MARY E. TUCKER.

Many a thousand years ago. In the witchcraft days of old. Then lived a ra«a in a German town—

Ho the tale me was told—

Whoee name *ai Mleery, and be dwelt In a hat an small and poor, That never a ftlnglw neighbor came

With a kind word to bU door. HI* bead was bowed, and hi* buck waa bent 'Neath a weight of sin and rare*: And the only treasure on earth he had

Waa a single tne ot pear*. Too oft when the old man slept at night,' The Ihlevea from a nearby town Would gone with their etealthy footsteps

Mkftra

And knock the ripe pear* down.

A wanderer came to the old man's door On a dark and tempestuous night, And meekly pleaded. "Let me ln

From tbedarkneas to the light."

Old Misery opened wide bis door, For a tender heart had he "I am sorry." be said, "for those who nare

More sorrow and care than me." -J thirst—I banger the stranger said, In the accent* of despair— Old Misery gave blm all he bad,

It waa bat a single pear.,

Then a brightness came, and.the wanderer stood With a halo round bis head, And the grand beam of bis wondrous eyes

Effaljctnl radiance shed.

Old Misery knelt, the Master said, "For the good yon have wHIed to me, Your old pear tree shall a tr-nsure prove

And perpetual bearing be." Alight illamined the old man's face*And then htaglanees fell, "For thieves," he said, •'will scarcely leave

Me a single pear to sell."

Then the stranger cried In his righteous

Whosoe^sMueend your free ^. Shall stay unices you cut him down, Until Eternity."

Then the speaker ceased and a sudden burst Or glory filled the air, And Misery found be was alone,

None save himself stood there.'

But once did the robbers climb bis tree— And a lesson good hod they For from evening till the morning's dawn

In the boughs they hod to stay.

Then he to old Misery cried,—

I

fSSiflS

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Old Misery's race was well nigh run, Me was fourscore years and ten,— And he sighed whenever be chanced to think

He must die like the rest of men.

At last one day on his courser white Death came wilh a thundering knock And Misery's white hair stood on end

As his frame Thrilled at the shock. "Oh, Death," he said, in a feeble voice Made tremulous with vears, "J could die in peace if I ouly had

Just one of toy good rip* peais."

Obliging Death from his horse came down And ho clImbed to the enchanted tree, When he gathered the pear then he could not move.

For a prisoner fast was be. A

For a night aMri a day did he brave it out, And none In the whole world died— "The world is getting too full," thought

Death,

"Call me down, good man, from this hauntFrom my boniis I set jrou free— You may wander o'er tne world at will

Until Eternity." And thus It was, that Misery is In every age and clime In King's grund palace and beggar's but

He'll stay till the end of Mine.

IFrom Scrlbner for June.]

"Surly Tim's Trou-

'bles."

A LANCASHIRE STORY. "Sorry to hear my fellow-workmen apeak so dlsparagi Meater, that's as it ma

o' me? Well, »y be, yo know,

lappon my follow workmen ha' made a bit o' a mistake—happen what seems

lolke crustiness to them beant so mach crustiness as sumrnut else—happen I mout do my blto'complainln' too. Yo munnot trust aw yo hear,Mester that's aw I can say."

I looked at the man's bent face quite curiously, and, Judging from its rather heavy, but still not outline, I could not face, or even a sulky one. And yet both managers and hands had given me a bad account ot Tlin Hibblothwalte. "Surly Tim" they oalled him, and each had something to say about his sullen disposition to silence 'and his short answers. Not that he waa accused of anything liko misdemeanor, but he was "glum lolke," the factory people said, and "a surly lellow well deserving his name," as the master of his name," of his room had told me.

Sim

unprepossessing really oall it a bad

I had come to Lancashire to take the control of my father's spinning-factory a short time before, and being axious to do my b^it toward the hands, I Often talked to one and another in a friendly way, so that I could the better understand their grievances and remedy them with lustioe to all parties concerned. So, In conversing with men, women and chhlren, I gradually found out that Tim Ulbblethwalte was In bad odor, and that ho held himself doggedly aloof from them all and this was how. In the course of time, I came to speak to him about the matter, and the opening words of my story are the words of his answer. But they did not satisfy me tgjr any means. I wanted to

do the uiau justioe myseli, and see that Justice was done to him by others and and then again when, after my curious look at him,he lifted his head from his work and drew the back of his hand acroea his warm face, I noticed that he

»ve his eyes a brush, and glancing at once more, I recognised the presence of a queer molature in them.

In my anxiety to conceal that I had noticed anything unusual, I am afraid 'I spoke to blnf quite hurriedly. I was a young man then and by no means as Jsolf-puea hope von won me, Hlbbletnwalte,', I said I don't nio«n to com plain—indeed, 1 have nothing to complain or, for Foxley tells me

f-pusscsaod as I ought to have been.

11

h"

hop* yon won't intaandnratand

YOU are the steadiest and most orderly hand he has under him but the tact la should like to make friends with you sail, and see that no one to treated badly and somehow or other 1 found out that you were not disposed to feel friendly towards thereat, and I waa sorry for lu "But I suppose you have some reason of Your own."

The man bent down ovtr his work again, silent for a minute to my discomfiture, but at last he spoke almost

TOank yo Master," he said "yo're a kolndly dtsaor yo wouldn't ha* noticed. And y«rre not ftir wrong either. I ha reasons o' tty own tho* 1'lolke to keep them to mysen most o* toimea. The fallows as throws their slurs on me would lift "understond them If 1 were lolke to gab, which I nevor were, but happen th* tolme '11 coma whea Surly Tim *11 toll Ills own tale, tho' I often think it* lolke it wunnot come till th'Iay o'^odgtnenu**

I hope It will come before then, said cheerfully. "I hope tho Um«

not far away wb#a we atand you, Hlbblethwalte. I• II haa been misunderstanding so far which has separated yon from the rest, ana It cennatlast always, you know."

But he shook his head—noi after a aurly faahion. bo* Ml thought atrlfle aadly or h#svlly-so I did not aalt any more questions, or try to foroe the subloot upon him.

But I notloed him psattf idosely as time went on, and the more I saw htm the mere fully waa I convinced that he waa not so surly as people Imagined. He never interfered with tho moat active of his enemies, or made say reply when tbev taunted him, and Tiore than once saw him jwrform a silent, half-secret a* of kindness. Once I caught him throwW'fcilf dinner to a wretched little la3 who had just come to the tactery, snd worked near himj and once iypdn, I w^e leaving the building on raioynigUt, I eame upon him on the stone steps at the door bending do*n w.th an almost pathetic clumsiness to pin the woolen shawl of a poor little mite Who, like so many others, worked with her shiftless father and mother to add to their weekly earnings. It was always the POOreet and leaat cared for ol the children whom he seamed to befriend, and very oflert I noticed that even when he waa kindest in his awkward man fashion, the little waifs were afraid ol him and •bowed their fear plainly.

The factory was situated on the outskirts ot a thriving country town near Mancheater, and at the end of the lane that led from it to the more thickly populated part there waa a path crossing a field to the pretty cberoh snd church-yard, and this path was a short cot homeward for me. Being so pretty and quiet, the place had a sort of attraction for me, and I was in the habit of frequently passing through it on my way, partly because it was pretty and

aoubt,and

ufet, perhaps, snd partly, I have no because 1 was inclined to be weak melancholy at the time, my health being broken down under hard study.

It so happened that In passing here one night, and glancing In among the graves and monuments as usnsl, I eaught sight of dark figure sitting on a little mound under a tree and resting its head upon its bands, and in this sadlooking figure I recognized the muscular outline of my friend Surly Tim.

He did not see me at first* and I was almost inclined to think it best to leave him alone but a9 I halt turned away he stirred with something like a faint inoan, and then lifted his Head and saw me standing In the bright, clear moon light.

Who's theer7" ho said. Dost tha W8Dt OWt T" "It's only Doncaster,Hibblethwaite,*' I roturnfea, as I sprang over the low stone wall to join him. "What is the matter, old fellow? I thought I heard you groan just now."

Yo niought ha done, Mester," he answered heavily. "Happen tha did. I dun not know mysen. Nowts th' matter tho', as I knows on, on'y I'm a bit out o' soarts.

He turned his head aside slightly and began to pull at the blades of grass on the mound, and all at once I saw that his hand was trembling nervously.

It was almost three minutes before be spoke again. That un belongs to me," be said suddenly as last pointing to a longer mound at his feet. "An'this little un," signifying with an indescribable gesture the small one upon which he sat

Poor fellow," I said, "I see now." A little lad o' mine." he said slowly and tremulously. "A little lad o' mine an'—an' his mother."

What!" I exclaimed, "I never knew that you wero a married man, Tim." He dropped his bead upon bis hand again, still pulling nervously at the grass with the other. "Tho law says I beant, Mester." he answered in a painful strained fashion. "I canna tell mysen what God-a'-moighty 'ud say about it."

I don't understand," I faltered "you don't mean to say the poor girl never was your wife, Hlbblethwalte." ".That's what the law says," slowly "I thowt different mysen, and so aid the poor lass. That's what's the matter, mester: that's th' trouble."

The other nervous hand went up to bis bent face for a minute and hid it,but I did not speak. There was so much of strange grief in his simple move tnent that I lelt words would be out of plaee. It was not my dogged inexplicable "band" who was sitting before me In the bright moonlight on the baby's grave It was a man with a bidden history of sometragio sorrow long kept secret In his homely breast—perhaps a history very few of us could read aright. I would not question him, though I fancied he meant to explain himself. I knew thai if be was willing to tell tne the truth It was beet that he should choose his own time for it, and so I lelt him alone.

And before I had waited very long be broke the alienee as I had thought he would. 'It wor welly about six year ago cum 'n here," he said "more or leei welly about six year. I wor a quiet chap then, Mester, and had na many flriends, but I had more than I ha' now Happen I wor better nstered, but just as loike I wor loighter-hearted—but that's now't to do wi' it.

I had na been here more than week when tbeer cornea a young wo man to moind a loom 1' th' next room to rae, an' this young womsn be in pretty an' modest takes my fancy. She wor na loike th' rest o' the wenchesloud talkin' an' slattern i' her ways, she wor just quiet loike and nowt else. First time I seed her 1 said to mysen, 'Theer's a lass 'at'a seed trouble an' somehow every tolme I seed her afterward says to mysen, there's a lass 'at'a aeed trouble.' It wur in her eyeshe had a soft loike brown eye, Meater—an' it wur hi her voioe—her voice wur soft loike, too—I sometimes tbowt it wur plain to be seed even I' her dress. If she'd been born a lady ahe'd ha been one o' the foins aoart, and as she'd been born a factory lass she wur one o' tho foine soart still. So I took to watch in' her an' tryln' to mak' friends with her till one neet I was going home though the snow, and I seed her afore lighten' the snow drift with nowt but a thin shawl over her head so I goes up behind her and I says to her steady and respectful, so as she would na be feart, I says: 'Laas, let me see thee home. It's bad weather to oe out by thyaen. Tak' mv coat and wrap thee up In it, and take hold of my arm and let me help thee along.'

She looks up right etralgbtforrard in my face with her orown eyes, and I tell yo, Mester, I wnr glad I war an hottest man, Instead of a rascal, far them quiet eyes wonld ha fan me out before I'd ha done sayin' my say if I'd uieant harm. "Tbaank yo kindly, Mester Hibblethwaite,' she saya, 'hot dunnot tak* off tha coat for IDS na dotn' pretty nicely. It Is Mr. Hibblethwaite, beant Itf* "•Aye, lass,' I answers, /It's him. Mooght I ax yo'fe name, •"Aw, tobe

name'a Roeanna—*Sanna Brant tbe

teNUet the mill alia# «a's

at the loom in ths next room

|yan' byfolk, w^f*

often.

on the way wn tpMv tSfmiM'

—beln on ttmlgfci

•r in onr nlMln wf-W eomss out whs* hag bean. «*Yo perhnus wouiant tnin* mje been utfrrfed woman Master,' abb •ays 'bst Ibava, an waddwfcM rwtA I married a sojer when yosng wend*, fo wur the worst

I wur a |iMr

yosng wend* fonr years ayo^.and It tblngaa ever I did In aw Us wnr ons or yo're hand* fastis ten of poor lassei. He w4nt to the Crimea sfter we

nur days. He wnr some fastish ohapL an be as men of his atripe alien lasses, an' then he Ill-treat

tired of ado tire

"If

|ire of tad me. i4t been

wed a year, an' loft me to ebift for iny•en. An' I beard aix moth after he wur dead. He'd never writ back to me nor sent line nq help, but I could na think be wor dead till tne letter eotns. He wur killed tha fiist month be ww ont fightin' the Rooahianp. Poor fellow Poor Phil! Tha Lord ha mercy on him t*

That wnr how I found ont about her trouble, and somehow it seemed to draw me to her, and make tne teal kindly toards her. TWdr so pitiful to hesr Iter talk about (he rascal, s6 aorrowful and gentle, aad not gi' bitn a word 1 real hard lor all he'd dose, hat that'a allers the way with women folk —the more yo harry's them, the more they'll pity yo and pray far yo. Why she wur na more than twenty-two than and she must ha been nowt but a slip of a lass when they wur were wed. "How-'sever, Rosanna Brent and me

Eome

ot to be good friends^ and we walked together of nighta, and talked about our bits of wage, and our bita of debt, and the way that wench 'ud k^ep me up hi splrfls when I wur a bit downhearted about owt, war jaat a wonder. She wur ao quiet and steady, and never ittle. Her

ay,

said too much or too brown eyes allers minded ine of my mother, though the old woman deed ween I wero nobbut a little ehap, but -I never aeed 'Sanna Brent amile 'bout thinkin' of how my mother looked when I war kneelln' down sayin' rtiy prayers after her. And bein' as the lass wur so dear to me, I made up my mind to ax her to be summat dearer. So once going home wi her, I takes bold of ber hand and lifts it up and kisses it gentle—as gentle, and wi summat the mme fecHn' as Td kiss the Good Book. "'Sanna,' I says 'beln' as you've had so much trouble wi your first chance, would yo be aleard to try a second? Could yo trnst a mon again? Such a mon as me, Sanna "I wouldna be teart to trust thee, Tim,' she answers luck soft and gentle after a manner. 'I wouldna be leart to trust thee any time.' "I kisses her hand again,gentler still 'God bless thee, lass,' I says. 'Does that mean yes

3d 1

She crept up closer to me in her sweet quiet way. fe, lad,' 'It means

Aye, lad,' sbe answers. yes, and I'll bide by it.' 'And tha shalt never rue it, lass, said I. 'Tha's gi'en thy life to ine, and I'll give mine to thee, sure an! true.'

So we wur axed 1' the church, t' next Sunday, and a month fra then we were wed, an' if ever God's sun ahone on a happy mon, it shone on one that day, when we come out o' church together—me and Rosanna—and went to our bit ot a home to begin life again. I could na tell tbee, Mester—theer beant no worda to tell bow happy and peaceful we lived far two year alter that. My lass never altered her sweet ways, and I just loved her to make up to her fur what had gone by, I thanked God-a'-moighty tor his blessing every day, and every day I prayed to be made worthy of it. And here's just wheer I'd like to ax a question, Mester about summat that's worretted me a good deal. I dunnot want to question the Maker, but I would loike to Know how it is that sometimes it seems that we're clean forgot—as if He couldna fash hissen about our troubles, and most loike left em to work out theirselves, Yo see, Mester, and we aw see sometime he thinks on us and gl's us a lift, but hasna tha thysen seen times when tha stopt short and axed thysen, 'Wheer's God-'a-moighty that he isna straighten things out a bit? The world's in a power of a snarl. The righteous is forsalcen 'n hia seed's begging bread. And the devil's topmost again.' I've talked to my lass about it sometimes^ and I dunnot think I meant harm Mester, for I felt humble enough—an' when I talked, my lass she'd listen and smile soft snd sorrowful, bat she never gi' me but one answer. 'Tim," sbe'd say, 'this is only the skoo' and we're the scholsrs, an' He'a tcachin' us His way. We munnot be loike the children of Israel in the Wilderness, and turn away fra the cross 'cause of the Sarpent. We munnot ea. 'Theer'a a snake:' we mun say, 'Tbeer the Cross, and the Lord give it to ua. The teaohers wouldna be of much uae Tim if the scholars knew aa much be did, and I allers think it's the beet to comfort mysen with saying, The Lord-a'molghty. he knowa.' "And she altera comforted me too when I wur worretted. Life looked smooth somehow them three yesr. Happen the Lord aent 'em to me to make up for what war com in. "At th' cend of th' first year th' child wur born, the little lad here," touching the turf with his hand, 'Wee Wattle' bla mother called him, and he wur Ane llgbtaome little tibap. He filled the whole house with music day in and day out, crowing and crowing—andl rying too. sometime. But if ever yourre a ftyther, Mester yo'll find out tha a baby's cry 's museo often enough, an' yo'll find it too, if yo ever loae one, 'at yo'd give all yo'd getten last to hear even th' wcrmt o' cryin'. Rosanna ahe couldna find it in her heart to aet th' 'anoat o'ber arms a minnit, and sbe'd go about th' room wi' hereysaw lasted up, an' her face bloomin' like a alip a girl's an' if sbe laid him i' th' cradle her head 'ad be tarnt o'er her ahoulder aw' th' time lookin' at him an' slngin' bits of woman-folks' songs. I tbowt at them old nursery songs wur th* happiest music I ever heard, an' when 'Sanna sang 'em they minded me o' hymn-tunas. "Well, Mester, before th' spring wur out Wee Wat toddin' roand nolain' to his mother's gown, an* by th' middle o' th' next be was eooin' like a dove, an' rattlln' words!' a voice like hers, is eyea wur big an* brown an' atraigbtforrsd like Bern, an* hia month

&'

r's

traigl raa like hers, an' his curls wnr the

color o* a brown bee's back. Happen we set too much ate re by him, or happen It wur on'y th' Teacher again teachin' ua hia way, bat however that wur, I came home one annny mornin' tro' th' factory, an' my dear lasa met me at th' door, all white an* cold, bat tryin* hard to be brave an* help me to bear what ahe had to telL

Tim,* said she, th' Lord ha' aent all a trouble bat ws can bear it together, canna we, dear lad?" "That wor aw, bat I knew what It meant, though t* poor little lamb had

^irstif in an' saw hlm lyin*^hesr htoMttoitt&Mttflln'sft'liMPIw jdedatwlaiaae, ifc' sesd akr wm

ov

a

common working toteefcathft

curts, th' pretty Utile chsp o^ens his efesaw st ones. ™H-ddy fie ps noli 'ttlkee Dad—!' an' ho HfU hlsssa «p,4alaMn at tl' floatin' attnaWne, iaugfeft #t it,

sgsrWti* !.-

moighty knew what he wnr doin' when he gi* th' woman t* Adam i' th' Garden orEden. He knowed he wor now* bto*« poor ehap as eonldna do ftar Wsesn an' I suppossthat'sth'rsssen gi' th' woman th' strength to bear able when it comn. I'd ha' gl'en clean In If it hadns been »ur my isari wben th' little ehap deed, 1 novel! tacklfldt owt i' IN* my dajrs 'at hnrtme

as heavy as losin' hfan di abef lv alght

roes any o' his bits

I wonder if he'd know he

was ours if he could see, or If lis'd hs' forgot He wur such a littJLe fellow.' Them wur th' last peaceful words I ever heerd her speak. I went up to th' village au' gotten what ahe sent tne fur, an' then I comn back. Th' moon war fehinin' as bright as ever, an' th' flowers i' ber slip o' a garden war aw sparklin' wi' dew. I seed 'em aa went up th' walk, an' I thowt again ol what she said bdut th' little lad. "Shewasna outside, an' I couldna See a leet about th' house, but I heerd voices, so I walked straight in—into th' entry an into th' kitchen, an' theer she wur. Mester—my poor wench, oroucbin' down by th' table, bidin' her face i' her hands, an' close beside her wur a mon—a mon i' red sojer clothes.

My heart-leaped into my throat, an fur a minnit I hadna a word, for I saw sammat up, though I couldna tell what it war. But at last my voice come back. 'Good evenin', Mester,' I ssys to him 'I hope yo ha'not breughten illnews? Wnat ails thee, dear lass?'

She stirs a little, an' giVes a moan like a dyin' child an' then ahe lifta up her wan, broken-hearted face, an* atretches oat both her hands to me. 'Tim,' she says, 'dunnot hate me. lad, dunnot. I thowt he wur dead long sin'. I thowt 'at th' Rooshans killed him an' I wur free, but I amna. I never wur.' He never deed, Tim, an' tbeer he is—the mqn aa I wur wed to an' left by. God forgi' him, an' oh, God forgi'me 1' "Theer, Mester, tlieer's a story iur thee. What doat ta' think o't? My poor lass wasna my wife at aw—th' little chap's mother wasna his feyther's wife, an' never had been. That theer worthless fellow as beat an' starved ber an' left ber to fight th' world alsne, had comn back alive an' well, ready to begin again. He could tak' her away fro* me any hour i' th' day, an I couldna say a word to bar nim. Th' law said my wile—th' little dead lad's mother—belonged to him, body an' aoul. Theer was no law to help us—it war aw on his side. "Theer's no use o' goin' o'er aw we ssid to each other i" that dark room theer. I raved an' prayed an' pled wi' th' lass to let me carry her serosa th' seaa, wheer I'd heerd tell theer waa help fnr such loike but she pled back i' her broken patient way that it wouldna be reet, an' happen it wur the Lord'a will. Sbe didna say much to th' sojer. I scarce heerd her speak to him more than once, when she axed him to let her go away by heraen. 'Tha canna want me now, Phil,' sbe said. 'Tha canna cure fur me. Tha muat know I'm more thia moo's wile thsn thine. But I dunnot ax thee to gl mo to him because I know that wouldna be reet I only ax thee to let me aloan. I'll go fur enough off an' never aee him more.'

Bat th' villain held to her. If ahe didna come wi him, be aald^be'd ha' me up before th' court far bigamy. I could ha' done murder then Meeter, an' I wonld ha' done if It hadna been for tb' poor laas runnln' in betwikt us an' pleadln' wi' aw ber might. If we'n been rich foak tbeer might ha' been some help fur her, might hs* been browt

inig

'*Uttlelad,-s seethe mother? hercaAlin* tbee! to Hi* Throne an' -1 Ml down ed wench an pa comfort her, fi aliy eomfort for as

I eonldna

Ms eradlfc, an' It aver o' his bits o' plaj^

Iooeh^ eproaa any o' his bits o' play* weigntia' o» me, tklML Td fall to enrin' an' ahakin' Juat help th' poor lad to bear it. It iSSTfeaUy. I kept out o' th' & ever I di3 owt «T wnr worthy i» Jlwr th* neettm' children even. I waina elgbt, let that be my reward,, ^ea* Hke Roeanna. I couldna aee qttolte. LbBd'4'- moighty, I'd be wlllin' to gi' what th' Lord meant* an' up a bit o' my own heavenly glory mr

Hke Roeanna. I couldna aee qttalfes el ear what th' Lord meant* an' oouldna help marina ring tad and heavy. Thatwjast loike da men, Heater luataaif th' dear wench aa had give him her life far foed day an' neet, nadna fur th* beat reet o' (h two to be weak all heavy-hearted.

Bu I gotten welly ov^r it at last, an' we waa beginnln' to come round a bit an* look tend to th' tolme we'd aee him agen 'stead o' lookin' back to tl»' toime we abut th' round bit of a face under th'coffin ltd. Day comn wben we could bear to talk aboat him an* moind thlnga he'd said an* tried to say i' hia broken babby way. An' so We were creepin' back again toth' old han^ py quiet, an' we bad been for welly aix months, when aummat fresh come. I'll never forget it, Mester, th' neet it happened. I'd kieeed Rosanna at th' door an' left her atandin' theer when I went up to th' village to buy auminat she wanted. I( wur a bright moodlight neet, juat auch a neet aa this, an' th' laaa had followed me out to aee th' moonshine, it wur so bright an' clear an' Jhat before I starts sue folds both her hsnds on my shoulder an' says, soft an' thougbttul 'Tim, I wonder if tb' little chap seesns?' 'I'd loike to know, dear laaa,' I answers back. An' then she speaks again

Se,

at leaat: th' law to mak him

lesve her be, bat bein' poor workln' foak tbeer was ony one thing: th' wife man go wi' th' husbsnd, an' theer th' husband stood—a scoundrel, cursing, wi' his black heart on his tongas. 'Well,' says th' lasa at laat, fair wearied out wi' grief, 'I'll go wi' thee, Phil, an, I'll do my best to pleaae thee, but I wunnot promise to forget' th* mon aa has been true to me. an' has stood betwixt me an' th' world.'

Then she turned round to me. 'Tim,' she said to me, aa if sbe war bsaf leart—aye. feart o' him, an' me atandin' by. Three bonis afore, th law ad ha let me mill any mon 'at foart her. Tim,' sbe says, 'aurely he" wunnot refuse to let as go together to th' little lsd's grave—fur thr laat time.* She didna spesk to him trat to me, an' she spoke still an' strained as ir she war ("O heart-broke to be wild. Her face wss ss white ss th' desd, but shs didna cry, as any other woman would ha' done. *Oome, Tim,' sbe said, 'he canna say no to that.'

An' so oat we went 'tboat another word, an' left th' black-hearted rascal behind, sittln I' th' very room t* little nn deed in. Hia cradle stood tbeer t' th' corner. We went oat into th' moonlight 'thoat spsskin', an' ws dins aay a word until we oome to thia very

place, Mestor. "we ...stood here for a minute ailent, an' then I eeea her begin to shake, an* ahe throws hsrsen down on th' graaa wf* her arms flang o'er th* grave, an' l|M cries oat aa ef ber death-wound bad been give to her.

"cSnet am tha'hear LMMe HQ, pi

any eomfort for war left—theer war no shamed sn' broke do leak. Th' past Mr

none

past tatuvn

ur worse. Oh, my poas Isssi how urd she tried to pray—fur i*%. Master, —yes, fur me, ss shs fay theer wi' her arms round hsr dead babby's (rave, an' her cheek on th' graaa as new o'er His breast. 'Lord Go3-a'- moighty,* ihe says, *h«lp us—dunnst gi' aa not, tVe canna do 'thowt th th' time ever wur when we could. little chap mun be wi' Thee, .1 J1 th' bit comfort abofct getberln* th' lamba i' Hia bosom. An't Lord, If Ilia could apare him a minnit, send him down to ua wi' a blt o' leet. *Oh, Piythor! help th' poor lad hour help him. Let th* weight fo' aw me, sot on him. Just help th' poor lad to bearifc. It ever I did owt a* wnr worthy i' Th*

rasa prayin' an eryin', WUd hat fur nigh haaf aa hoar, seemed 'at she got qaoit* she got up. Happen an' aent tb*

looked to me aw

I promised her, Mester, as yo' can guess, an' we kneeled down an' kissed th* grass, an* ahe took bit o' th* sod to put i' her bosom- An' thfh we stood up an' looked at each other, an' at laat sbe put her dear face on my breast sn* kissed me, as she had done every neet sinf we were mon an' wife. "'Good'bye, dear lad,' ahe whispers —her voice sw broken. 'Dosnt coins back to tV boose till I'm gone. Goodbye, dear, dear lad, an' God bless thee. An' ahe aiipped out o' my arms an' war gone in a moment aw most before I ooold cry out.

•«•,?

Theer iana much more to tell, Mee ter—th' eend'a comln' now, an' happen It'll ahorten off th' atory, so 'at it seems suddent to tbee. But it were na anddent to me. I lived alone here, an1 worked, an' inoinded my own business an' anawered no questions fur about a year, hearin, nowt. an' aee! nowt, an' hqpin' nowt, till one toime When th' daisies were blowin' on th' little grave here, theer come to me a letter fro' Manchester fro' one o' th' medical chaps i' th' hospital. It war a short letter wi'prent on it, an' tbe mo ment I seed it I knowed aummat war up, an' I opened it tremblin'. Mester, theer war a woman lyin' 1' one o' th' wards dyin' o' some long-named beartdiaeaae, an' sbe'd prayed'em to send to send far me, an' one o' th' young aoftbearted ones had writ me a line to let me know.

to

llvas—a

S

up a bit o' my own heavenly glory: th' dear lad'a sake." Well, Mestor, she lay theer on t'

ir, an' than it

child—happen

fite

etten up her an' ahlnin*

I' W dear moonlight. •"Sit down by me, dear lad, said, 'an' hold my hand a minnit.* I set down an' took held of her hand, as she bid me.

4"Tiin,'

she ssid, 'this wur why th'

little cbsp deed. Doat na tha see now 'at th* Lord knew beet?* 'Tee, lash,' I answers humble, an' lays my face on her hand, breakln' down again. 'Huah, dear lad,* ahe whispers, 'we hannot time tur that. I want to talk to thee. Wilta listen 'Yes, wife.' I says, an' I heerd her sob when I said it, uut she catcjiea heraen up again. 'I want thee to mak' mel promlse,' aaid she. 'I want thee to promiae never to forget what peace we ha' had. I want tbee to remember it alius, an* to moind blm 'at'a dead, an' lot his little hand howd thee back fro' aln an' hard thowts. I'll pray fur thee neet au* day, Tim, an' tha shalt pray fur me, an' happen theer'U come a leet. But ef theer dunnot, dear lad—an' I dunnot see how tbeer could—if theer dunnot, an' we never see eacK other agen, I want thee to mak' me a promise that If tha sees th' little chap first tha'lt moind him o' rae, and watch out wi' him nigh th' gate, and I'll promiae thee that If I aee him first, I'll moind hlnv-o'thee^an watch out true an' constant."

•2ISS

I started aw'most afore I'd finished read in' th' lotter, an' when I getten to tb' place I fun jnat what I knowed I should. I fun Her—my wife—th' blessed lass, an' if I'd been an hour later I would na ha' seen her alive, fur ahe were nigb past knowin* me then.

But I knelt down by th' bedside an' I plead wi' her as ahe lay theer, until I browt her back to th' world again far one moment. Her eyea flew wid open aw, at onct, an' she seed me and smiled, aw her dear face quiverin' f* death. 'Dear lad,' ahe whispered, 'th' path waa na ao long after aw. Th' Ixird knew—he trod it hiseen' onct, yo' know. I knowed tha'd come—I prayed ao. I've reached th' very eend now, Tim, an' I shall see th' little lad first. But I wunnot forget my promise—no. I'll look oat—for tbee—for tbee—at th' gate.'

An' her eyes shut slow an an' I knowed abe waa dead. "Tbeer, Meater Doncaster, tbeer it aw la. for theer ahe Ilea nnder th' daiales clooet by her child, far I browt her here an' buried her. Th' fellow as come betwixt ua had tortured her far a' while an* then left her again, I fan oat —an* ahe wore ao sfeaied of doin' me some harm that ahe wouldna come nuh me. It war heart disease as killed ber, th' medical chsps said, but I knowed better—It wur heart-break. Tbat'e aw. Sometimes I think o'er It till I canna stand it any longer, an' I'm fain to come here an' lay my nand on th' grass,—sn' sometimes I ha' queer dreama aboat her. I had one last neet. I tbowt 'at shs comn to me aw at onct jaat as she used to look, ony, wi' her white face shinin' loike star, sn' she says, Tim, th* path iana ao long after aw—that's come nigh to th' eend, an' me an' th' little ehap la waitin'. He knowa tbee, dear lad, fur I've twot him.' "That'a why I comn here to neet, Meater an' I believe tbat'a why I've talked ao free to thee. If I'm near tb' eend I'd lolke some one to know. I ha' meant no hurt when I seemed gram an aurly. It wurna ill-will, but a heavy heart."

quiet,

He stopped here, and bis bead drooped upon bis hsnds again, and for a minute or ao there was another dead silence. Saeh a atory aa thia needed no comment. I could make none. It seemed to me that tbe poor Jellow 'a sore heart conld bear now. At length be rose from tbe turf and stood up, looking out over tbe gravea into tbe •oft light beyond with a strange, wistful sadness. "WelL I mam go now," he said slowly. "Good neet, Mester, good neet. an' thank yo far UsteninV*

Good night," I rstarned, adding, in almost yon yo sgain, Mester 1" be aaid, and then tamed away and as I sst pondering I watched hia heavy droop-

"UOOa nignv nwn an impulse of pity that passion, "And God help "Thsnkyo sgain, Mei

mmm

nnder tttohhsdshy yond. I night.

&

ssaytes!

•Sb5T/.

In coossqnence of tnls aleeplsarases

frmm later than uaual inioilg down •1'

routine had plainly occurred, for thO'ii- wrg whole place was In confhfeiqn. Thero wash eroi#d of hands groupfcd about one oornsr of tha yard, a*d"SB 1 esmo i*n In a man ran agsinst me, and showed %??«, me terribly paletaoe. 1 a* tinmen. Maitai Doneastec." h« M.-T said in a wild harry,''bat theer's sn, sccident happened. One o' th' w^av lahuH' Th'loo we could atop

For aome reason or other my heart:::

Utanve mo lhafc very nbomsnt. I rtr poshed forward to the group in the ird-corncr, rind mam rough it.

Lads," I said aloud a tew recends later, "you can do no more for him. Hia piin la over 1"

For with tbe audden glow of light which ahone upon the shortened path and the waiting figurea ot hia child# and .Its mother, Sony Tim's earthly trouble had ended.

4NMCDOTK OF BEN WADS. Mr. James S. Brisbin thus speaka of*1 Old Ben Wade, in Forney's Press:

On taking bisaeat, Mr. Wade found himaelf aurrounded by two despioable^, olaases of men, then very properly characterized by the newspapers as Southern fire-eaters and Northern dougb-fucea. He had not been long in hia aeat until ho witnessed one of tho scenes so common in the Senate of those daya. A Southern fire-eater made -m:

an attack upon a .Northern senator,s and Wade waa amazed and disgusted® at the cringing and cowardly way the Northern man bore the tauntem and lnaulta of the hot-headed Southern Senator. As no allualon was made to bimself or State, Mr. Wado'' sat still but when the Senate ad-M foamed ho aaid openly that if ev-r era Southern Senator made an attack

on him or bis State, while he eat on" that floor he would brand him aa a liar. This coming to the esrs of the Southern men, a Senator took early occasion to pointedly speak of Ohio and her people as negro thieves. Instantly Mr. Wade sprsng to his feet snd oslled the Sena-^ tor a liar. Tbe aouthern members were thundersitack, and gathered around their champion, while tho Northern" men grouped about Mr. Wade. A feeler was put ont from the Southern'" side looking to a retraction, but Mr. Wade aavagely demanded an apology n' for the insult offered to himself and to. bla State. The matter thus closed, and a duel seemed certsln. The next day a Southern gentleman called ou the Se» ator and asked him if be acknowledged the code.

I am," replied Wad*?, "in Washington in a double capacity. I representthe State of Ohio and I represent Ben Wade. As a Senator I am opposed to*. duelling as Ben Wade I recognise tho.. code." "My friend feels aggrieved," aaid tbej

Snate

ntleman, "at what you said In tbe yesterday, and will ask for an apology or satlafactlon."

I waa aomewhat embarrassed," oon-1 tlnued Senstor Wade, "by my position^ yesterday, aal have aome reapect for the chamber, but now I am free to apeak my mind, and I take tbia oppor-• tunity to aay to you what I then thought, and you will please to repeat^ it to your friend,thst he is afoul mouth-

sd old blackguard." "Surely, Mr. Wade," aaid tbe aston-?' ished mam, "you do not wish mo to, convey snch a message as that." "Most undoubtedly I do," replied* Wsde, "snd I can tell you further, for?** your own benefit, this friend of yours will never notice it. I will not be asked by him for either retrsctlon, expla-' tion, or a fight."

HPAKISH BRUTALITY.—One part of tbe Sunday service In tbe Spanish nav is to read tbe penal code. This formality had jast been socompllshed, recent-1 ly, on tbe Ferrolsno, a war frigate, whea Louis Codsrro, the second itt oommand, cried oat, "God save tho king," which met with a mate rosponse. A second snd third time he*

primed cheer for Amadeas, without developing any enthusiasm. Burning with rsge st this rosnlt, he ordered tbo» wbole crew to be decimated, which was carried oat to tbe letter. The counting commenced, and every unfortunate: upon whom foil the fatal number ten,' was taken ont of the ranks snd receive ed one hundred lashes. This barbarous eentenoe was executed in the presenco of, and to the manifest disgust of tho officers, who, ss well ss tbe poor sailors, had refused to joiri in the cry ot"God save the king IT'

Primal on the foes, eruptions, blotches, acrofaloas diseases, ami all diseases srising from impure blood. arn. cured by Dr. Pierce's Golden Medical Discovery.

ff

IUH bad, an* I'mgofn'farih*doctor. S:!?

my way

A man w^p lyinaon a pile ol ooata in, the middle of thebystaaders,—a poor folio# crashed and torn Ami bMiasd, bat lying quite qaiet now. only for sn eDBSsionsIlittle moan that was scarcely more than a quick gasp far breath. $ waa Surly Tim .»•?

He's nigh th' eend o' It now!" said one of the handa pityingly. #He*» nigh th' IriM now, poor qbanl What'a^ ttiat he'a aayin', laaa?"

For all at onoe aome flickering sense seemed to have caught at one of tho" speaker's words, and the- woanded„ ,T man atlrred, murmuring faintly—but. not to the watchers. Ah, no! to something far, fat beyond their feeble man sight—to something in the broads i^j Without. he aaid "aye, this is *:'tr

it bout. "Th' oendt" th* eend, dear lasa, an' th' bath'a aw ahinin* or aummat an!—Why, laaa, I oan aee thee plain, an' th* little ohap tool"

Another flutter of the breath, one alight movement of the mangled hand, ana I bent down closer to the poor fel-P low,—closer, because my eyea were aoi dimmed that I could not aee.

im 3 1$

v-.i"

wT

Jut*

'••i \t 4 "V* -..M

f.-i

(sJ

v+h

'V

1?

1

The gentleman immediately rose. took bis hat and left tbe room. Next morning Mr. Wade eaine into^ tbe Senate and proceeding to his aeat deliberately drew from under bla coat., two large navy platola. and unlocking^ the lido? bis desk, lsid them Inside. Tbe Southern men looked on in ellenee, while the Northern members enjoyed to the fullest extentihe fire-eater's aurprise at tbe war-like proceedings of' tb« plucky Ohio Senator. As Wade1 had predicted, no notice waa taken of- r. the anair of tbe day before he was not challenged or asked to retract, bat ever afterward treated with the utmost pollteness and oonaideration by the very Senator who had ao Inanltingly attacked him.

3: 'S:

•Ml

t. jj.in