Saturday Evening Mail, Volume 3, Number 33, Terre Haute, Vigo County, 15 February 1873 — Page 6

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BALLAD OF THE SWITCH-TEN-DER. I loafed with railroad rowdies on the bridge,

The river flowed below

They ta:ked of nags and epibippic pl iguem, And let It flow, Until tbe haughty station-roaster spake

Above the din,

And mildly answering their Idle words. Said, "i»rap your chin. Talking of accidents and slch," said he, (Which they were not). There was a funny thing occurred right here

To William Pott,

The switch-tender a decent feller, Bill, But took bis rye, And had a nasiy wayofuleeplngon the track

When was high.

William one night wap taking of a snooze After a snifter, Tbe draw'd been open for a local, ana Bill

Forgot to hblft her.

His legs dangled from the draw, he slept Upon the track. And never woke uutlt the ni^ht express

Wa-t aL Lius back.

And then lie lialf rose, and fetched a liowj, Hut 'twas loo late! He set rlglit on uie cow-wither a t-pdl,

But didn't wait.

He throwed a handspring fifty feet aloft, And with a bound Struck on the track a half a mile away,

But sale «ud sound.

t, O O Bill finished all that wasn't dead,and then Tne coroner c*me And liearil the evidence tliejury taid,

No one to blame.'

'Twa.s lurk for Bill, though for he got so scared Of tending switch They hud to muke him station-keeper kere,

A„u Courier.

Long, Long Ago

A Til /,' STORY*'

nv LIZA BETH STUAI1T PHELPS.

When Jt^cl el Fross promised to marly Azr.tt-l Graven, the whole church militant rejoiced.

It was so l"iig a^o, that young people who thought ot uiarriage considerrd first what the church militant would ibink.

WHS

so long apo, taut a young man

preparing for the Gospel ministry was an object of peculiar veneration and a auWject of exceptionally persistent prayer.

It was so long ago, that such a young man was held to have sacrificed this world and the glory thereof upon the altar of his consecrated youth and to have wrested heaven's blessing as Jacob wrestled of old till daybreak with a hidden, smiling, favoring Lord.

It was so long ago, that such a young man expected, sought and found a lite of much sell'conquest and sell-denial— of poverty, of anxiety, ot patience, of prayer, 01 honor, of peace. 11 was so long ago, that such a young man excitod the supernatural respect of women, and inducod in tboinadevotion resembling that in which a C.aude, a Bossuut, a Savanarola lived and moved and had Iheir being, and wore not, lor God took thein.

It \v:ts s.) long ago, that the imagination of a young woman faltered beforo the coucfptiou oi a loftier lot than that of pr lviding for the teiupor.il and lowor in c.'sMties of so elevated and dedicated a belnir.

It was so long ni o, that when Azrael Graven asked Ilactiel Fross if she would in with him in the service to whio.i he hid givi-n his life if she would become his r.oinfortor and assistance in the holy work, if she thought that it would insure her happiness to unite with him in the bonds of matrimony, which was of God and blessed bv God, to this great end—and It was so long ago, that Richol felt as if tbe Archangel Michael had stepped from heaven to earth, becauso hd had need of her.

fact, it was so long ago,that poople wont to church with foot-stoves mid Azrael Graven was carrying Rachel's foot

B'OVO

homo for her, after the

Thursday Qvonitig -on fore nee meeting, when h» brought the subject of Michael so vividly to h'-r mind. ••1 hail not thouKht," said Ricliol, trembling visibly—"oh! Mr. Graven, I hud never thought of that 1" "1th.s weighed upon my mind," said the angel Michael, "for a long while, Rachel. It has seemed to me that tne Lord, for a long while, has been leading my thoughts in this direction and 1 have allowed myself to hopothut he would k-ad yours in the same." lint, oh Mr. Graven," trembled Rachael, once again, "1 am not good enough. I can never be good enough to bo a minister's wife. I never can, indeed

Rachel Fross was a tall and stately woman, with pale hair hoavy upon her forohead, with grave, groat reticent oyes. She turned hor head as shespoke, and looked upward at the angel Michael (who was rather tall himself) with a motion such as Meinnioii might have mado in looking eastward lor the flush of dawn which should unbiud tbo marbio ol its li|is

It WHS not so l«ng ago but that the Reverend Mr. (Jraven observed the motion ami the look with keen-folt satisfaction, tlnek with a dull sense that they wcr Imih natural and appropriate. B'nlied tho foot-stove on his thin, long arm, ai d, gravely lifting Radiol's baud, pressed it to his lips.

Tnere is uone that doeth good," he answered, her "no, not one. We can grow in graco together, Rtchel."

Ah well," said Rachel, soltlv, I cm try. 1 will try. if you would like lo have rao, Mr. Graven."

I have come to feel," said tho Reverend Mr. Graven, speaking slowly, and with some suppressed emotion up.m his thin, sickly, abstracted face, that niv work could not be, could never be rounded and complete without von, Rachel Fross."

Now it was so long ago that the atrocity ol this love-sceno was as simplo and AS serious to actors as one of Mendelssohn's "Lieder ohneWorte so long ago that, in spite of it, Azrael Graven and Rachel Fross, joining hands across the foot-f ore, set from that moment their youn. root in Eden, and heard tho Lord ol 6tcrn*l lov© walking in tho garden of their hearts that day.

In 'siit. was so long ago that a mat,'* rei ve estimate ot himself and the WX.III I whom he loved might be sin iy pit--, osterous, and yet that he tnln lov« woman very much and thai «roui*u might be so far glorified tbi» life by the one fact as never to disco* th« o'hor till death and immorality 'd blurred it to a faint, tintroubling

At all event©, remains, that Rachel Fms$ came houto «rom Thursday conference "promised" to Aarael Graven and that the fitneas of this event was apparent at once and forever to the chnrch and society of Southampton in which devout, dead Dwcon Fross had been a "pillar" for ,mors than thirty Years and by which Axrael Graven was (supported in the Theological Seminary at Princeton, with faith, hope, charity, and a quarter allowance of one hundred and lifty dollars and fi'ty cents.

A ft*w aravf calls, received in the sitting room, with her mother kniuing'ln

the rocking-cbair, beside the fire a few grave walks in the bro'd winter day, up and down the broad, drifted, watching streets a little grave discussion of the revival and the freshets a little strange, sweet chat of conainon doings—of a pudding that she tuade a little awed listening to his last new sermon, and a little temper with her mother for suggesting that be change his text some reading aloud in an evening from Jeremy Taylor, or fro® Walter Scott a dignified kiss or two left upon her forehead in the entry, with tbe door quite open a timid suggestion that she mend bis gloves, and hall a night spent in daruina them to a hair-line's wondrous nicety, a faint, sweet sense of household fellowship when he "stepped to tea," and "led iu prayer thereafter, and tbe perplexing presence for-ajjhy elusive pain at the thought ot what Southampton would be like to-mor-row. when he bad

gone-preceded

Azracl Graven's return to tho seni uary to complete his senior year. It was so long ago that I5 jcbri did not tell iiim she should nm*

b,UJ

the

"f'

gay that she should mourn. They talked of the neighbors, and the news the semi-weekly paper held of the "Association." which would meet with Azrael's aunt, across the street, ne*1 week of

prayer that Deacon Jud-

kin made on Sunday of the price of board in Prii c^ton of the best remedies for spring colds, and the flavor of ice tea. Tho young student had a heavy c®ld upou his lungs, now some weeks old.

You come ol a sickly stock," said Riuhel's mother.

"Your

mother died

thirty, you remember most of the Hebards I nave known (I mean the women have.) Then there was your poor father But your Grandfather Graven —they thought he never would die. It's a slendor, switchy stock, Mr. Graven may bend, may break. You sbo"1" take good ire of yourself. It's a blood that owns good care but robels at a slight, always."

She was a Bradford herself—Mrs. Fross, came as straight and stiff as her silhouette over the mantelpiece, lrom the Mayflower. knew all about "blood" and "stock sho could apportion to any family in town its proper quality of imbred sin be legitimate inheritance for such case made and provided.

Rachel stole out into the entry, after Azrael Graven had risen to take his leave that niubt, and waited lor hitn by herself. Thinking how long it would be before sho saw his face (how pale it looked, swimming before her tears across the half-swung door!) the sparse limits of her happiness suddenly struck and cha'ed the Puritan girl. She fed her love on such scanty fare She lelt starved. A rapid, unreasoning thought came to her that in some way sho was wronged—and ho. A hot flush ran to her temples, and under her heavy, pale hair, while she stood there, half hearing her mother advising Mr. Graven to put on a mustard plaster.

When the young man came out to find his hat, Rachel took a suddenstop and shut the door then, finding herself quite alone wi.h him looked once or twice about tbe dim, still cntrv, threw her arms about his neck and kissed him of her own accord. "Oh," she said, "I love you!,'and lied, scarlet and blinded, out of sight.

The young minister felt the world spin for an instant beneath his steady, consecrated feet. He passed bis hand once or twice over his eyes, coughed, took bis hat, and walked bareheaded quite down the garden walk and out into the chill spring night.

Rachel had letters at due intervals. She returned tbem at corresponding and punctilious distance. Mr. Graven wrote of the tardy spring, of the size of his class, of the somewhat chilly outlook of his northeast room, ef the audionco which he had last Sabbath, ot the great theological professor's latest anecdote, of a prospect of a call in a seaboard village, of the difficulty which he found in preaching with bis cold (which lingered still) in windy weather of some exercises of mind which ho had experienced of late prayer.

Miss Fross wrote of Mr. Graven's cold, of the care that he should lake, of her fears that the const would prove too severe a climate for his health, of hor mother and aunt, ofthe "exchange" which they had last week, of thei seeds which sho sowed in her garden this year of something which had pleased her in "Doddridge" or in "Baxter," of Deacon Judkiu's fover, of a funeral or a wedding down the street, of the pleasure which she had taken in bis last letter, ofthe anxiety once more which she felt about his health, and the desire which she experienced (very timidly expressed) to see his face again, and judge from it for herself exactly how be was, and why that cold hung on so long, and il he were not in need of rest.

Mr. Graven read Miss Fross' letters, sometimes twice, with care and pleasure, tied them pcatly together with red tape, and laid them away on file in a pigeon-hole of his desk with a volume of "Jewell's Sermons" laid upon them to keop them safe and still.

Miss

Fross road Mr. Graven's letter's

—ah well, sho road tbo last one till the next one came. Sho woro them out in her pocket she crumbled them with tears of jov she folded them in her Bible, and locked the Bible into her lower bureau-drawer. Once sho pressed them hastily and botlv to her lips but she was quite alone, and it was midnight, ami Azrael had written "Dear Rachel" In three places In a uoto which came that day.

It was quite in the heart ofthe sultry summer that a letter came which Rachael carried to her mother. It was very short, somewhat wearily written, and ran like this:

MY DKARFHIRND—I have excused myself from prayers this morning, for I have had a restless night with a racking and exliansting cough. I must in some way have taken a heavy chill. I shall be in better health to-day, I think. The anniversary exercises will occupy the last week of August I understand. I spoke with the senior professor this morning about my essay, which is in preparation. I should like to be excused from the exercises altogether, unless I find myself in better health before vacation. I mentioned this to him this morning. lie remarked that he would consider what was practicable and advisable in the case and inquired if 1 studied much by candlelight, and if I had tried the renovating agencies of calomel.

My lecture-bell rings. I will post this communication in its incomplete condition, that you may feel acquainted with my state and be spared undue uneasiness. I shall improve rapidly with rest and change, I feel no doubt. You will please to serve my respects to your mother, and believe me to be "Always truly yours, "AKRAKL GRAVKJI."

Rachel's mother read this letter, folded it slowly, read it again, and handed it back to ber daughter.

Well asked Rachael, wondering why her mother did not speak. "Oh! he will do well enough if he comes home," said Mrs, Fross. "He ought to come home. I think mysell he will before long."

TERRE-HATJTE SATURDAY, EVENING MAIL. FEBRUARY 15, 1873.

Mrs. Fross was busy putting a cartain up against tbe parlor windowShe spoke with her mouth full of Rachael listened to ber esgeriy. her voice was

drawn

through ber teetn,

aftd whistled over the

tacks.

meant

nothing. Rachel made nothing of it, and went away. Not a week therefrom, in the middle of a slow, listless morning, as Rachael stood in tbe kitchen, dreamily coaxing a slow snd lifeless bread-cake into being, her mother came and called her into the parlor in a very sudden way, bidding her sit down and get cool for a little while.

I'm not very warm," said wondering Rachel. "I'd rather rest by and by, when the cake is done."

But you'd better rest now," said Mrs. Fross nervously walKing around tbe room. "You better rest. The fact is, Mr. Graven came home last night."

Rachel rose impetuously from the chair, where she sat, by the window, with her sleeves rolled up, and the sluggish breeze striking faintly against her flushed cheeks and well-molded arms and disordered, beautiful hair. She rose impetuously, but sat slowly down again.

He came home with bleeding at the lungs and you might as well know it first as last. And I've got to tell you!" sobbed Mrs. Fross, sitting suddenly down herself, with her back to her daughter. "And, Rachel—still with her back to Rachel—"if I were you. I'd rather know this minute that the doctor says it may be quick consumption and it may be that there's nothing in this world to do, and I'd rather my own mother would tell me."

Rachel, in the sluggish breeze, her bared arin9 crossed upon her calico cooking-apron, and her falling hair blowing about ber face, sat forsosae moments perfectly still. Her mother did not look at her. The wind rose a little restlessly, and the bees in the front garden, feasting on tbe hearts of tbe great crimson peonies, hummedso loudly that it seemed as it all the world could hear them.

I suppose," said Rachel's voice, at length, breaking dully against the roistering, lawless sound, "that he is not—able—to come and see me?"

Oh uiy dear," said her mother, "he oannot leave his bed Then 1 will go to him," answered Richel, simply.

She roso and pulled her sleeves down and took her apron off. Mrs. Fross put her black, hair-cloth chair against the wall. She shut tbe door she shook her grave, gray head. "My daughter, you are troubled, and not quite yourself, or you would think —it is not suitable it is not maidenly you cannot possibly offer Mr. Graven your services as a nurse, Rachel."

He is to b» my husband!" Rachel cried. She felt her brain whirl all the world grew dark in her mother's pained, uueven, but unrelenting voice, all tho world—the grave, good, calm, the virtuous world—spoke out to hor. Clear through the humming of the crazy, blessed bees among the peonies, the good people whom sho knew, Mr. Graven's stately friends, tho blurred vision ofthe seminary at Princeton, its awful self, and worse, ah worpe than that. Azrael's weak, line voice came, cutting the two words out, and welding them around her: "Not maidenly." It seemed to Rachel Fross that chains could not have held her from her lover, but those two words fettered her fast to the brown rose in the parlor carpet which sprawled beneath her feet. She looked down at it with a sudden hate for tho dull, false thing. Roses could not grow that color. They never had thev never would!

Her thought followed this fancy in a confused way. She could not think about Azraol for a single moment she could not understand the idea slipped away from her. What did it mean "And since he is not your husband, Rachel, and it is not becoming a young lady to think of that, I do not see, my dear, what cau bo done. If the Lord should will—"

Rachel started and recoiled. Sho could not talk about the Lard's will just then. Or course, it was right, and great, and good but she could not talk about it then.

Sho walked dreamily and dizzily away and, not knowiug what else to do, went back and finished her bread cake by herself. She noticed that she could not hear tho bees among the peonies at tbo kitchen window.

Her mother had spoken the truth. Rachel realized this keenly enough as the weeks dragged on. It would not have been "maidenly." No one in Southampton would have thought it so. Mr. Graven would not think it so.

At times a querulous hatred of the world sprang np in Rachel's heart. If one were untnaidenly, would the earth spin on her axis still What would it be like? Would it make so much difference after Azrael was dead?

For Azrael must die. Richel never questioned that. The jets of hope that tusbed about her when people brought her news of feverish, bright changes in his failing strength the cheerful message he sent her by her mother—that he enjoved the custards which she sent that ho"had passed a quiet night the confident, calm clinging by which he held himself to life, never touched tho steady uuder-current of the knowledge in her that Azrael would die.

It seems to those of us who have heard something of Rachel Fross' history, in that su mmer, now so far behind her troubled, young life, that fiction would foreordain itself a suicide wt ich should make so audacious an attempt upon the courtesy of our credence as is made .by this plain, true tale.

That Azrael Graven should have been suffered to die, lying just across the street, the windows of his sickroom in sight from Rachel's little ohatnber, without a sight of his promised wife, seems to us a fact to smile at, till we find our eyes have filled.

It seemed to Rachel hard. Yet the sternly-nurtured woman accepted her lot with a certain calm. She felt it to be inherently inevitable. For the most part she did not question it.

Tbe Puritan blood in ber veins ran with a powerful repression which was not unlike repose.

When she sat, at dead of night, shivering at her window, to watch the sicklight burning and waning in Azrael's room when she stretched her arms out to it in- the black, chill air, thinking weekly bow Azrael's life was burning and waning with tbe tiny sparks when she went down into the gray morning, waiting for a chance word of the dying man's condition, watching for a chance stir about the house which held hitn shrinking when they said: "He suffers faint with tiding to thank God when they said: "He rests compelled to exhaust tbe yearning of ber exiled heart toward his in a foolish jelly that she made him, in a pale, proper useless flower that she sent, she did not think that late had treated her unkindly. She said: "It la tbe sovereign will of God." Rachel bad heard a great deal abont the sovereignty of God not much about His tendernnsa. If His awful Presence held a rich compassion for a woman who must be "maidenly," for Southampton's sake, though Azrael

lay dying—it was a darling fancy, He had' many things to occupy His great Eternal Thought. How could it be? Once her young life rebelled with all its might against this thought.

It was a rainy night and very dark. Azrael Graven had been worse all day, in much dist ress and weakness. Her mother had given her to understand this with some reluctance, and set her some household task, Rachel thought, to avoid any further comment on the fact. When this was finished, Rachel slipped aw»y, and out of the back door, into the little, dripping yard. She found the bouse too strait for her. She could not breathe. She felt benumbed. Tbe ache in .her.heart ran, an actual pain, all up and down her feverish young limbs. She threw her shawl over her bead, gathered her dress-skirt wrong side -out over her shoulders, (she could not afiord to spoil it because Azrael was dying,) and so ran about for a little while in a purposeless, halfblind way, to and fro over wet chips and rubbish, with the wind and rain upon her face.

Timidly and on tiptoe she wandered out, at last, into the black, deserted street, and across to Azrael's aunt's. The sick lamp was the ouly light the house held, and that burned brightly, striking a slender long shaft of gold across the slatted fence and down upon the dripping grass and little pools of water in the road. To Rachel, skulking like a criminal in the shadow, it looked like the beautiful ladder on which of old angels ascended and descended out of Heaven. Her heart climbed up its shining height with a sudden, daring, wifely sense of right to turn the whole world out, and minister to Azrael's meanest wants, She felt shut out—down thero in the storm and dark—like a soul in bell.

A soul in hell—or so to Rachel's excited and unnatural fancy it seemed just then—flitted past her down the jet, while she stood crouching there teside the slatted fence. The light of tbe golden ladder which climbed to Azrael's room struck full upon its haggaid face. Rachel knew tbe face, and shrank she went to school with tbe poor girl once. She was a gentle, pretty girl. When her baby was born the people that she fived with turned her off. She had worked in a shop since that and lived a decent life enough some said but no one spoke to ber, and the baby died. Rachel had sometimes wondered, in a shocked, dim way, what life was like to her.

Now, as the vision of her floated by, a throb of awful eavy bounded in Rachel's pure young heart. This woman had dared to sin for love's sake. While she-

She fled with hor head hanging, her hands before ber face as if she had been a guilty woman—fled from the shining ladder, whore theangels would not walk—homo, and into a dark, still room, where she dropped upon her kn669*

It is said that whon the early autumn chills came on, upon a windless moonlit night, a little after the village clock struck three, tchel Fross waked her mother, who was sleeping by her side, with an exceedingly great and bitter cry. "Mother!" she said, "Azrael is dead!"

Something in that cry chilled all the placid, proper Bradford blood of Patience Fross. She sprang trembling up. The room was lighted with a mellow light like the opening of flowers in the sun the shadows of a partly leafless tree fell in and lay motionless on tbe bed. Rachel was standing iu the middle ol the room, in her white nightdress, with the moonlight on her full and solemn.

You are dreaming, Rachel." Mrs. Fross, quite herself again, rose in stately Bradford way, and drew her daughter back to bed.

Mr. Graven was better this morning than ho has been for a week. You have been dreaming. Go to sleep, my dear, and do not think about it. It annoys me. Why, Rachel! Why, Rachel

Rachel sat just where her mother had placed her, straight and stiff in bed. Her eves looked straight before her one hand fell over the edge of tbe bed.

But mother," she said, "Azrael is dead. Azrael has just died." Sho spoke very quietly then, and lay very quietly back upon the pillow.

The words had scarcely left her lips bel*re a slow cold horror, like a word, like a cry, like a struggle, like nothing that the two women had ever heard in all their lives beforo, filled the earth and sky.

It was the passing bell of the old town church. When it had tolled twenty-nine times, Rachel turned her face wearily to the wall. Azrael Graven was twen-ty-nine years old. "But it may be somo one else!" cried her mother, snatching at a hope. Rachel smiled and said that it was no one else. Azrael was dead.

I told you, mother, that Azrael was dead." In tho morning a bit of crape hung from Azrael Graven'^ sick-room window, which stood wide open to tho piercing wind.

About noon a little crumpled paper catne to Rachel, with penciled words upon it, in the young minister's stiff hand, very faintly put together "Dear Rachel"—That was all. He had tried to write, they said, but wandered. He bad spoken ontfj or twice after tbe moon rose in the night, and in a restless wav looked round him. Tell Rachel,"—and again, "Tell Rachel"—But they could not tell Rachel, for he said no more.

Rachel went to the funeral. 8he walked in the procession among "the neighbors." The mourners, in their crape, crisp grief, looked far off and small to her. She wore a blue ribbon, and her old plaid shawl.

Some one lingering in tbe roid as the people scattered, attracted her dull attention. It was the girl whom she saw flitting by her in the rain when she was hiding by the fence to watch the light in Azrael's room. Tbe girl turnea upon ber, as she passed, an awed and puzzled look. It changed, after an instant's thought, into an expression such as one sees in tbe eyes of a dumb animal, whose compassion is powerfully and ineffectually moved.

Rachel Fross did not die. Ah! no not for twenty years. Of her life or of her death one fact only has been, beyond this, recorded. It is said that in her last hours she called tbe watcber to ber bedside with a singularly pleasant smile, and gently said "I have bad such a pleasant dream. I thought that Mr. Graven and I were married, and that I climbed a golden ladder to take care of him before he died."

NATITRK is completely relieved from the prostrating influences ol kidney, bladder and glandular diseases, mental and physical debility, diabetes, gravel, female weaknesses, uterine complaints, and, in fact, all maladies ofthe urino-genital organs, in either sex, by partaking oi Smolander's Bncbu, which has proved itself to be a valuable vegetable remedial agent.

"D. D.'

BY COL. A. D. BAILIE.

I'm tired now and sleepy too. Come put me In my little bed." So she softly sang, and then she gaped and rubbed her weary eyes. 'Oh, Willie Moore, if I had you here, I'd comb your little head for you—with a three-legged stool, I would—you rascal. Two o'clock in the morning, packing not half done, and your precious wife with her back broke."

Thus groaned sleepy, tired little Henrietta Moore (nee Henrietta Miles), protessionnlly known as Mile. Henrietta Millesturoli, late ballet-girl of the Theater.

A little over seventeon years of age, slight but perfect in form, with a pure, fresh complexion, blooming cheeks, clear blue eyes, and movemonts of free undulating grace and flowing ease, with irregular features and changeful expression which would have delighted an artist and driven a photographer to despair, she was a sprightly little beauty to gladden the eyes of those who loved a good, pretty face.

The room in which she waited for ber husband was by no means tidy. Two half-packed trunks stood open upon the bed and floor dresses and coats, shirts and skirts, lay scattered in confusion.

William Moore, just of age, inclined to be fast, good-looking, soft of heart and head, uutil lately a book-keeper In a commission house, had, a week before, married this child of the theatre for love, thereby pleasing himself, gaining his idol and losing the friendship of his highly respectable relations and his situation—for which he cared little.

The young couple were to start on the morrow, in the noonday train, for Chicago, where William was to invest the twenty-five hundred dollars just paid into bank subject to his order, his portion of his father's estate, with an established firm in whose house he was also to till the position of book-keeper.

He Lad gone out early in the evening to have a farewell supper with some frieuds. It was now two o'clock A. M., aud he had not yet returned.

Henny (she was always called Hennv) gaped again and then, seizing a pretty little gray travelling bonnet (just new) from tho bed, she went through, for the twentieth time, with the "trying on" process.

She heard the front door shut, and listened the step upen the stairs was siow and dragging. "Taiu't Willie,'she sighed, and turned again to tho mirror.

The door of the room was thrown open.

Why, Willie!' It was her hnsband. He entered tho room in silonep, his dress disordered, his face pale and his hands trembling. He sank into a chair and looked at her in despairing sadness. Ho had been drinking, but was nearly sober now. The wife began

Will, you're real mean to go and leave mo all night by myself, and go get tight, and all the packing to do yet it's shabby of you, so it is.'

All right, Ilenny Pitch into me Go ahead But you needn't pack any more. Wo can't go!'

Needn't pack any more! Can't go!' she echoed, with surprise.

4Why

not?'

•'Cause I'm dead broke lost every rap. There! now it's out!' ho said, dashing his hat on the floor* She turned oa him fiercely

William Moore, do you moan to tell me, after all you promised me, that you've been and been—' and a^, look finished the question. 'Pitch into ine—pitch in, Henpy,' he groaned

started for only oue game,

after supper, and kept on and on, and —now it's all gone, every rap!' and, poor, weak sinner! the tears began to fill his eyes.

Will Moore, you're a—' commenced the wile but looking at him, the big, good-looking boy of a husband that she loved so well, the harsh words died upon her lips, and she went and sat upon his kuess and cuddled him, 1QK'Oh, Willie, I'm so sorry. I bad hoped so much—so much—and now it's all oyer and she gave a deep, sobbing sigh. 'Is it all gone, Willie? Who was it she asked, stfter a time. 'Cleaned out—every cent,' he answered. 'After supper, I'd been drinking some, aud Chick Lawton proposed a game—and I didn't think ot what I'd promised you—and I didn't lose much I'd have won every cent back, sure, only old D. I). came in, and he roped in and took a hand aud he's got my checks for every cent we have in tho world. Ob, Ilenny, I don't care for myself: it's you I'm thinking of, and that makes me nearly crazy.'

You ought to have thought of me before it was too late, Willie.' I know, Henny. but it was only a little game with Chick. He wouldn't have taken all from me, like old D. D., when he saw I was tight. Chick's a good fellow—everybody says so—but old D. D. has no more heart than a turnip."

IleafIs and good fellows! Don't talk to me!' said the little wife, sharp, ly. 'Ciiick Lawton has no more got a heart than—I don't know what. I know mom about Chick Lawton than you do, Will, lie's a scoundrel, that's what he is. But I didn't think Mr. Dodge would have done it I thought better of him.'

He's got no heart, Henny, D. D. hasn't you ask Chick if he has,' groaned Will. •Ob, bother Chick! I wouldn't speak to tbe rascal. Mr. Dodge can treat one like a lady even if she is, or has been, a poor ballet-girl, and that's more than your Chick—chicken-hearted—Lawton can do,' answered the wife.

And then for along time they were silent finally the brave self-reliaut cbild-wife said to her boy husband

Willie, will vou promise me, once more, never to "drink or play another card?'

Henny dear,' be answered, like a repentant school-boy, 'If you'll only forgive me this time, I'll never drink or play a card again, so help me God

Good boy! then kiss the book and she held up her bright red lips. •And now, Willie, let's get some sleep, and to-morrow we'll attend to everything. All this finery we've bought to cut a dash with in Chicago we'll either pawn or sell, and we'll go to New York or somewhere, and you can get something to do, or I can get an engagement and go back to the old business.'

Soon ail was dark and silent in the room. Tbe man slept, but the little wife prayed, as well she knew bow, to Him to 'give us this day our daily bread' and that the hnsband whom she loved, and for whom she was willing to work and save, might have strength to keep his renewed pledges.

In tbe morning Henny, sharp little business woman that she was, with a loving kiss hurried Will off to find somo one who would buy her now useless finery, which, with a sigh, she proceeded to arrange. She was a woman it was a sore task to part with tha pretty drewcaj09' ^00®"'* Aa she was

kneeling at her trunk, there came a tap upon the door. Come in!' she cried.

A man entered it was Delos Dodge, professional gambler. Henny started to ber feet and faced him, looking like a little fury.

Dolos Dodge had nothing of the reverend character which tbe title D. D. that his associates bestowed upon him would have indicated, unless it might be his appearance. Faultlessly dressed with no display of jewelry, and smooth, gpale face, and quiet deportment that uothing was ever known to disturb, a 5v white neck-tie would have transformed I him' so far as looks went, into a model minister of tbe gospel. But tbe square chin and firm mouth aud the cold, fixed glare of his eye showed 'old D. D.' to be a man that it would not do to affront a few men had risked his anger, and most of tbem lived to regret it.

He entered the room and closed the door, and then said, most politely,

beg your pardon lor disturbing you, Mrs. Moore, but the servant informed me that j'our husband was here. I wish to see him. Busy packing to start, I see.'

Then Henny—poor Henny—poured out upon him, the man who had robbed her husband, heaped-up wrath: 'Packing to go'way, you impudent villian! You know that we can't go 'way when you robbed—yes, roobed— my poor Willie, after making him drunk, of every cent he had in the wide world. Oh how I hate you And you have the insolence to come here, after all, and to look ine in the face and asks me about going 'way. You'd like to & see tbe poor boy starve, all of you—» that's what you want. But 1'U spites you. I'll work for him wwrk lor biin I —yes, till I drop dead.' a

Henuy stopped to take a breath, and

Oh, D. D.—Mr. Dodjte, I mean—how, how can I thank you?' she cried. By saying nothing of this to anyono but your husband. Pack up, now, and get him away lrom here, and toll him from me to drop the drink and the play he hasn't the head for either. And now, good-bye, Mrs. Moore, and a pleasant journey and good fortune to you and he held out bis hand.

Please forgive me for what I said, won't vou Bhe bogged.

4Ob/certainly

then Doles Dodge spoke camly and quietly. 'Mrs. Moore, please listen to me for a few luon.ents. Your husband is young, and rather foolish and weak, but I liko him, and I like and reject you yi'iiare an honest, good i^irl. I went to our rooms last night, and found your husband, decidedly tho worso for liquor, playing with Mr. Lawton. Mr. Mooro had lost all his n- o'v ni^uey, and applied to me to cash his chicic lor a considerable amount. I knew what would happen, and forced myself into the game, much to the disgust of the others. In three hours I had your husbands checks for twenty-five hundred dollars in my possession. Here they are,'continued D. D., producing them from his vest pocket.

cauie hero this

morning, trusting to find Mr. Mooro alone. You will do as well. What 1 now do with these checks you will please tell no one it would ruiu my enviable reputation and Delos Dodge, the gambler, gave a low laugh as he tore the clucks into small bits aud scattered the pieces at the feet of the staring astonished little wife.

'twas but natural, and

did you good. Good-bye!' and again ho holdout his hand. She looked up at him. If her friends had heard of what she next did, they would have said, "That's just Heuny all over.' She reached up, put her arms about his neck, drew his head down and kissed him. Then she sank upon the floor sobbing, woman-like, for joy.

Delos Dodge walked down the Btairs very slowly. His lace was paler than usual, aqd there was a slight moisture in the cold gray eyes that softened their stony glare. As he passed through to the street, upon the steps of the house be found Mr. Chick Lawton.

Why, hello, D. I).!' exclaimed Chick, •what are you doing hero? I saw Billy Moore rushing down street, and I thenght I'd just drop round and cheer Henny up a little but you was ahead of me, you old 'possum. Billy's down on his luck this morning, I guess, and I'm so tender-hearted that I thought I'd come and offer them a or an X* I'll just run up and keep Henny company till Bill comes back.'

Dodgo laid his hand on Chick's nrm. Mrs, Moore is very busy, Mr. Lawton" said he, with an ugly look in his eyes. 'Take my advice, and don't go up. You had better walk down the street with me this fine cool morning —indeedyou had, Mr. Lawton. Come!"

Mr. L. did not care to disoblige Mr. D. It might make Mr. D. angry. It was dangerous to anger the quiet Mr. D. and so Mr. L., who was particularly careful of his

4big-boarted'

self, trotted

dowu street beside old D. D., who seemed inclined to silence. But Chick hated silence, and soon broke out: 'You wouldn't have acted toward Moore as I was about to do—now you know you wouldn't, you heartless old D. D.' •I certainly would not.' was tho meaning reply. 'I knew it!' crowed Chick. 'That's because you've got no heart, you see. It gives a fellow a cold in the head merely to look at you. Come in here and tako something to warm up that cold blood of yours.'

I thank you I seldom drink.'

know it that's because you've pot no heart. I actually believe your veins are filled with tee-water. Come in. and take something warming,' persisted Chick.

Go you and get your drink. Excuse me. I have something on my lips that I don't wish to wash off,' was the quiet rejoinder, and Dodge passed on down tbe street.

But there was a warm feeling on tho left side, under old D. D. spotless sbirtbosom. He had a heart.

CHARLOTTE CUHHMAN once related the following anecdote: She said a man in the gallery of a theatre (I think sho was OH the stage at tbo time) made such a disturbance that the play could not proceed. Cries of "throw him over" arose from all parts of the bouse, and tbe noise became furious. All was tumultuous chaos until a sweet and gentle female voice was heard in the it a in "No! I pray don't throw him over! 1 beg of you dear friends, don't throw him over, but—kill him where be 1s."

JOSH BILLII*O» was asked. "How fast does sound travel His idea is that it depends a great deil upon the noise you are talking about. "The sound of a dinner horn, for instance, travels half a mile in a second while an invitation tew get up in tbe morning I havo know to be 3 quarters uv an hour going 2 pair of stairs, and then not^ hev strength enuff left to be heard/4"

A LAWYER once pleaded with great ability the cause of his client for nearly an bour. When he bad done, bis antagonist, with supercilious sneer, said be did not understand* a word the other said who neatly replied, "I believe so, for 1 was speaking law." ^.