Saturday Evening Mail, Volume 7, Number 3, Terre Haute, Vigo County, 15 July 1876 — Page 7
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II
THE MAIL
A PAPER FOR THE PEOPLE.
THE REAPERS.
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The reapers bend their lusty backs, Their sounding alokles sway At evrry stroke the golden sea
Secedes to give them way
-l y-i Recedes to give mem w»y jt The heavy ears fall bowing dawn, And nestle at their ftvt __
Such will, such work a-, theirs, perforce, Must win—must homage meet.
1 So careless of fatlgae they go, So true, so »teadlly, The ad miring traveler on the road
Leans o'er the gate to see:
with marvel of the soon fallen breadth The longing gossips tell But the reapers labor for us all:
*1 -Vf
it
Tl» need they should work well. ,.
Ere the great sun that burns above Shall crimson In the west, And the children's poppy nosegays fade,
And they lie down to rest, Each golden spear that upward points Shall fall upon the field, And the farmer drains as-parkllng glass,
Rejoicing o'er the yield. Ply, bonny men, your sickles bright, And give the people bread! At every conquering stride you take,
On want and woe you tread. Drop, heavy ears, and give the strength You gathered from this plain. That man may rise refreshed and llrro,
And do great things again.
God blew the hands, all hard and brown, That guide the cleaving plow, r...
/JO
That cast abroad the Hhlnlng seed, Aad bulid the wealthy mow ... t. v.ti.i^.
They rear the bread «nr children eat Tls by their toll we live. Hurrah! give them the loudest cheer1
Ft
That grateful hearts can give —[Chambers' Journal.
THE LOST WIFE.
IX BY BELLA Z.HPENCER, Author of Tried and True," etc. |y
[This Intensely Interesting story was eomraenced In The Saturday Evening Mall, Vdl. J. No. 4l-Aprll 8.187H. Back numbers •an be had at The Mall office, or sent to any address for live cents a copy.]
CHAPTER XXXVI.
Another week went round, and Ora yrtis once more Installed in Dr. Clifton's household as of old, only now she was understood and appreciated. Had Harry been at home, she would never have gone back, but be was a wanderer for an indefinite period, and she had no place to go to, and the asylum offered was very tempting in her sadness and loneliness. There was double sweetness in the kind and affectionate treatment she received, now that the stain had been cleared from her name, and she found herself more than restored to their esteem and love.
One evening shortly after h« removal, she donned bonnet and shawl, and taking a bouquot of late flowers she had obtained for the purpose, she wended her way to Ada's grave, where she •wont almost every day. A singular
foved
si
lii
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'tit .•
rf
dm
3
"5
flips
sbs§IS
ileasure always awaited her there. She to scatter liowers over her child's resting place, and now that Aggie was laid beside her at her earnest request, she was drawn to the spot with a feeling as if she were going to meet aud talk with her dear one*. It was after lour o'clock when she arrived at the Cemetery, and though cool, the day was cloar •ltd bright. Sho sat down upon the little mound, green and beautiful, screwing her flowers lovingly ovor it. Then sho dropped her face upon her hands, and soon lost herself in a sad retrospection of tho past.
At length a heavy sigh, more resembling a groan ot anguish, caused her to start and look up. Then a smothered cry broke from her lips, and alie lialf rose to her foet with clasped hands, and face white as death. A strange form was towering above her, an agitated face white as her own, pictured against the clear sky inr bold relief.
44
Nina," said a husky voice, "Nina, is it thus wo meet at last?" She could not speak or move. Like one frozen to ioe, she stared at him in her terror and agony. He repeatod again, pleadingly:
Oh, Nina, will you not speak to me? You have not forgotten. I see that you know me, even though long years o( suffering have changed us both." "Aye!" now broke from her lips. "It has changed us—myself particularly. But whose work was it, Edward Piercelie! Who brought that suffering upon us both
It was I. I would not try to dfeny it If I coold but may not years of remorse and penitence wipe out the one sin and error of my life. Oh, Nina, if you knew how those years have been passed, you would pity mo—you would come to me, and ginng me your hand, say In your own sweet childlike way as of old, ••Edward, I forgive you."
No, that cannot be. It is too late. The time for such words has passed. Thev were sealed upon my lips toe day I buried my daughter here, and knew that it was your perfidy which had open for her an untimely gnhft! Had you been true to one of tho most sacred ties of nature—she bad not died amongst strangers without food or medicine, and been foroed to owe her very resting pl&ce to a stranger's charity I Had yon been true, I had not fled from your homo and become a wanderer—compelled to labor for my daily bread—suffer wrong and misconstruction—be insulted with suspicion, and become the object of pursuit for base and soulless beings, to whose mercy you consigned me when yon cast mc off "for another! Oh, how can I remember all this, and then, because yon come to me and say you have suffered, say that I forgive you I No! I will never utter the words! You may duffer, if you indeed can, which I doubt. Fresh from the presence of brr for whom I tfas abandoned, I cannot believe that yon can «.onte to me with any other feeling than to devise some new mode of torture for my future! What navel done thst you should thus persecute me Why have yot» followed tin»»*»re Hn Alice Murray** fascination Kst life power Where to she now, that yoo are notbeahte her?"
She spoke rapidly, vehemently—passionately. Ills tones were humble and yet tender as he endeavored
to
reply.
5"Nina, why wrong me? Sorely, if I h«v« sinned, it is no* 60 that extent your weirds would convey. I know not where Alice Murray is. She left the day after vtra fled, ana from that day I newr saw her, until a short time ago. I heard of bar at times, but held no communication. When you left, it broke the spell stM& had woven about me, and was a miserable man—the snort miserable that breathed the breath of Hte sought you everywhere. Oar neighbors could tell me
nothing—strangerscoold
tell me
nothing—no trace or cine could I find 1 to guide me, and at length was forced to abandon a fruitless search. I thought you dead, that you had kUlsd rourwlf in yonr misery, and through all these years I have been a h#ro»It,f»H ng as If I bore upon my brow the mack of Cain,
A wvi
even worse, for one dearer than a broth-—la-i
but a little timealnce, that I heard that you were alive. AUoe, traveling North, accidentally disoovered you, recognized, and made iuquiriea ooncaruing your employments and position. She wrote me a letter, telling me how I might find you at SaraU)^, No need to repeat her account, The thought that you were alive filled my soul with but one desire, and I hastened there, only to find vou gone. I tried then to get your address,ljut failed. They told me then that vou had left Mr. Raymond's,
ed hoping for
some
4
intelligence.
No, I cannot. Yon ask too much
y^jl^fnvcd^nio
your 183C3 W
my
Nina, Nina have pity! Do not say that you will not forgive me. Take time, consider, but do not condemn. I am no. as guilty as you deem me! Ob, I cannot boar to live on unforgiven. Here, ovter the body of our dead child, I plead for pity!"
Aye! murder her,, then tnrn to the heart-broken mother and crave pardon for the deed. Bring up the other also, and make him a plea too! You murdered them oth. and I, their mother, may listen to yt.u when you bid me pity you in remembrance of them."
She lautihcd a wild, bitter laugh. Excitement bad turned her brain, almost. Her feelings had risen 4ill reason was overpowered. She could think of nothing In this hoar but along catalogue of woes, and it had steeled her heart against bim. He now stood shaking, with bowad bead, before her. "I can bring 110 justification but my deep penitence," he murmured chokingly. "Will Jt have no weight with you?"
She lifted her hand with an imperious gesture, cold incredulity and scorn stamped upon her haughty face. "I nave no "faith in vour penitence! You tell me that through ail these years you have been a miserable hermit be-
lieving me dead. Yousay accident din-
what can be your object In this £t He looked like oneamaxed, and coold hw —__ with difficulty comprehend her mean- beavy slgh,
not imagine, or for what purpose. There
arstoss.
have
ter^rAllow- ed iV'whTto
I
I could scpcoely refrain from flying to you clasping you in my arms! But I dared not, till you, too, had spoken forgiveness. Will you not speak
a iiL
"V uw SUJH
started. When st last, the weary day came to a close, and 1 went down, I met Mr. Scott, his sister, and vViice. They were in the White Mountains all sum-
wvro 111 feliv »»HIW muuUHUUB Wt OUU1- »A -TV
user, and had got as far as New York on
have she replied, still Incredulous seemingly
been unsuccessful until now—must to every assertion* ... ...
—4ffiSSirSSSSkKKS?!2!
and she bag thought more prudently of her course, and has wisely, if you speak
ness WW you not spea* truth, married a fool. She does not denowf Will you. not put your hand
0n„0cVi„X.f I wit uVWeor
the old happiness that for a little while was ours He advanced and held out his band, his whole frame tremulous with emo tion, bat she shrank back.
serve
even
SrOb^SSni eve^be 'XlVto'forat tered brokenly. "Perhaps one you love your own word9 Shall I tell you wTat and that is what has hardened you. Is
~™i
Hmtnfv^name' "Must I give you a h-s" His hand was slowly uplifted, and
and took my child from the roof once sacred—then dosecrated 1 How I stole forth in the night and walked with my innocent burthen to the nearest station, and there, 11 perceived, took the cars that boro me away front you! How after that, I labored through weary monthmf toll and study to make myself lit for some situation by which I might keep mv child from want? Ob, those were bitter daj*s. I wont to a little southern town, and engaged teachers. I took my mest valuable jewels and sold them that I might have the means live and at the samo time acquire those brandies of knowledge I icquired. Laborand study was not tho worst of my trials. A wicked man saw my loneli ness and persecuted mo with bumilia' ting attentions. He was a musician and I took lessons of him in singing. He was gentlentanly at first—then patronising, then familiar, and I resented it. He grew angry at this, said he was no music teacher, but a gentleman of leisure, and had been struck with my pretty face and glorious voice, and sought thus to be near me and win my interest. Things began to look dark at length. Several months had passed,and I had oxertaxed myself bodily and men tall v. I fell ill. It was then that a little cfiild—a bov, was prematurely born, and that, too, I must lay up against you. You killed him, Edward Piercelie! Another evil grew out of this! That man found it out, and made it the pretext of suspicion and insult. He reported maliciously that I bad been false, and my husband had cast me oft! J, mind you! Oh, I laughed, even, in my bitterness then, to think how I wa* slandered. Am I not running up a score against you, that will stand a wall of adamant forever, between us? You were tho cause of a'l! None of this had come, had you not driven me from you with yonr faithlessness. I did not realize it all then. It was a long time ere I learned to look upon you in a true light. I even loved you till Ada sickened and died. Then my whole soul turned. I could brar 110 more. You had stood an idol, hut vour image shattered to irreelamable 5ust over her tomb! Then, I despised and hated you. I cannot help it. I have cause. Tho toll of years—the poverty, disgrace—death—all, all come between you now and one softening emotion. I will nevor forgive you— never! Go! leave me In peace!"
Her lip curled scornfully. Was he in hopes of gaining anything by working on her fears? Her time had come how. Had she a desire lor revenge, she could ask for ne more power to Inflict it than at this moment, and the desire that had taken temporary possession of her, urged her on to its completion.
TTCTtRiyMAXJTE SATURDAY EVEN IN (i- MAIL.
had gone dn, and ahe telegraphed them sad tones of that Uat for their esoort home. The lady on my Hnging now In her ears. "tirred arm was Mlsa Scott—the aenttaman again thefroaen fountainaof her better with Alioe, her brother, whose wealth
No, what doea it matter I believe
^aUlotflne a^silTy child* She was silent. im- *. 01 mo uu ""Tnl
torv olwhat I'suffered then-how with pressed his foreheadas ilablow had to coming back again soon. I expect
heart breaking I, wen. to my room, actio." EU8"a»t^l!id as marble. "Oh," ho groaned bitterly. "I
(nature.
such good fortune as to have
Will you not tell me who this friend was, who told you, he said," unheeding her last remark.
A
Already, Ln Jh®
is sufficient attraction without the wit, tlnce she had to reflect op®" which he lacks In a sad degree. She passed, ahe had made thS married him In thla city as they went tell fS? iKo through, and you might have seen the sbe^reave hlm. ^ut that
nntine in the nanein nad vou looked oould do. Reccfve him again In con ancHy thia ^STlt^ ho™. W Wm to^ber Have me it was not I. as yon have been was impossible. Nothing but the oMa led to believe, who was ty her. Who ashes ofthe old love remained in her could
mUtaken him forme!" 'heart. She would not even try to reIt w«a no mistake. A Wond l.lhrmhim forever." "Are you ill?" asked Lina, anxious-
am
justly punished, but I cannot bear it Oh, Nina, Nina, my wife, come back to me—believe me—pity me! I have told you but truth! By all my hopes of
yuu UUb ii iuu 4JJ can uiiuciaiaim heaven I swear it. Do not cast me off He is receiving his reward. so hopelessly. At least say one word of forgiveness!"
I have said what I mean. Go," she articulated in cold, measured tones. I cannot, till you say at least you will try to forgive me. Nina, I have wronged you bitterly, but not enough to justify vou in unforgiving hatred of me. I cannot go down into my grave in peace till you have pardoned my sin."
Still immovable as marble! Had sho been of stone she could not have ap peared more unfeeling, and as her ici ness increased, his excitement rose in proportion. He was almost wild and incapable of self-control.
You have learned to be inhuman, he cried vehemently, "else you could not listen to me so totally unmoved. Nina, if you have one spark of-feeling left, I pray you hear me for the last tirqp. Let me tell you again how I suffered. and how, when I gained tidings of vou, I hastened with a wild, glad hope In my heart, to call yon mine once more. Once vou were so gentle and forgiving, a word would have restored me to your confidence and love, and remembering this, though my sin was deep, is it a wonder if I hoped to win you back when I had confessed my wrong freely and offerad you more than the devotion of a life in expiation. I would be yeur slave, anything you wished, only for the happiness of hearing you speak one forgiving word. Oh, speak it, speak it, I implore you, for the love or Heaven, lest I go mad! Nina, I am a man-no longer, but a child, dying at your feet, with tho agony you infltct! If you will not pity me, think of yourself. Will you ever know peace again, when still without a word of pity, you Bee mo borne to my grave, and know that yo.ur hand sent me there
sar
castic, scornful laugh grated upon his ear, and she said derisively: Go on, Edward Piercelie. You im
Sne
rove wonderfully. You would make a tragic actor. You have such a fine flow of words, and could so easily take hold upon the feelings of a 'susceptible' audience. I regret that I cannot enter into the spirit of your touching address more fully. Uufortunately, your early lcssorib, and long contact with trying scenes in daily life, have rendered me impervious to such emotions as you would excite in a less experienced person."
Then farewell," he uttered with a sudden effort at calmness. '?May you never plead at God's mercy s®at as vainly for forgivenesses I have pleaded with you."
He turned his face from her, and far one moment bent his knee beside tho grave of his child. His pale lips moved, as if in prayer, and then lifting a flowfer from the movnd which she ha'd so lately scattered there, he placed it in his bosom reverently, and with one last look of unspeakable sorrow, he murmured again a sad farewell as he turned away.
Farewell, Nina, once my wife, now los»to me forever. Farewell. You will never be troubled with me more."
He went away alowly, turning but
m"aJ
covered mo to Alice Murray, and sho before he reached the gate, and wrote you. Then you fly to me, but looking back as If in hopes she would learning after one brief inquiry that I relent and call him. But she stood still have left the plsee, yon turn and devote.
a°d
"T'i'.i"'"'"
unmoved, and he disappeared
yourself to Alice asefoM. Why, if you tbroOkh the gate. bring to me a r*nft«tot heart, did you As he paased from her sight, somenot prove it in your actions. You did thing like pity stole 1,1 rnVn^^i not leave her side all day. Yon took of ^feeling made her are informed. her upon vour arm fti atartinff from the sinlt back with a moan upon the motindy ute« place, an Jbtinirunoa her ovary werd. and resting her forehead against the He haStehed away, and in a short time In the oars yoti Ignored any other exte- cold marble, breathe a half articulated returned with water, which they dashed tence but hers—were blind to every- «P**?®rj over her face tillconsciousneasreturned. thing but her presence. But now, hav- Oodfprgi ve me if 1 hayesinned."
ing, aa you tWht, escaped observa- Shedldno^head the PWJef/ ahe sank down heavily, with a deep tkm, you hunt me down, and bring a and it sped
jng( |y aroundber.^ We iiinst get her to tbecottage now, ••I cannot understand yon," he re- __ f^to" ring the tolT tofore shroould "^Come, I guilty get out. The sexton came oat of his will Uke her
is nd jthta Mrt8 n'f^hn ^vjiintrv* "1 thotight Jrou had gene, when I suatchcd a hnril^Tnote to her lather, aware of, in this part of Iclosed snd locked the gate," he said, but bidding him hasten to her immediately. without answer ahe went out silently, with all their efforts they failed to re--2 J!
iLn and turned har steps homeward. store
yw i«me,ettgagad. I »w Alice when wii^ the tlKmir^t of death. But it seemm% A^W1 a shori^inlervleS' tit CHAPTER XXXVtT. edan age after the meesenger .Urted mom in I did not see her all day. I Slowly and sadly she ascendod to her before the Doctor arriy^i
wasinmv room too ill to stir. I was chamber, when aha reached Dr. Clifton's, the flt^ glance, t^ominotu^3^rewlon tboJa^ 'unmanDM by dlMp- Jhd.Ui. cam. »p to h« .Imoat Imme- of W. tow. pomtm.tUto do,.!.yU.in« ,„d „,re ,b. uW^,aU5heTTdaI,gerr' said, "t was growing^ao uneasy about Her lather stood fof fmom^holding you. You are too weak to venture away from home so long. I will not let
yJJ*1-
their return, when they learned that Ttw kind hearted girl went and jmt Alice, instead of Joining them there as l»«r arras around her affectionately, and arrangements had been made to do, Ora dropped her heri Mains* her bohad stopped at Saratoga, and they re- aom, a feeling of grateful einoUon and
Tb. iZiy .h. triu. fwnoraw cootwidliig In bar brwt. The
wm
iiu sne
ly, as she received Ora'a weary head and lovingly stroked back her hair. \o_u are either sick or very tired. Which is it?"
Both sick and tired, dear Madeline Life's trials will never have an end but in the »grave," she replied, drearily. "Oh! dear!" "Why, what has happened?" said Lina, reallv beginning to feel alarmed
Ora lilted her white face with a momentary expresfcion of ita former Btony bitterness.
He has followed me here—followed mc, and found me at last. He has even ventured to stand npon the sacred ground hallowed by the remains of his innocent, helpless victim—desecrating it bv his presence!" ••'Whom can vou mean? Not your husband, surely V'
Yes. whom else should I mean? Ob. Lina, I have borne mncb, and still live, but I can endure no more. If the cords of life do not snap under the pressure, a lit
^ssi
wmyoa*"v"n0
wn
'r^rihs? ."
^o
a a
but I can scarcely
believe him. He will
"What did he say? Did he urge anj'tbing in justification Was he peni tent "You would have thought so, had you heard him. I did not. If he has any feeling left, he is now learning to understand what he made me suffer.
Why, how?" asked Lina, not com preheuding her meaning. _,,j I refused to forgive him."
Madeline's face became very grav a id "h, Mrs. Meredith, this is unlike you.'' she ventured. "Christdidnot refuse it to the most guilty—will you be more severe than your Divino Master in your condemnation
Lina, would you have me take him back again?" "No, not if faith is shattered—love dead—as I believe them to be. But you can forgive him still."
Yes, I do now. Then, over the grave of my child, and remembering all, I could not. Oh, I feel as if I sould die with this weight upon my heart," she added, dropping wearily upon a sofa "When shall I know rest."
Madeline sat down by her, seeinar her state of mind, and taking her hands in her own, drew from her a narrative of the scene in the Cemetery. It touched her to the heart. She could not blame Ora, but at the same time she pitied the man whose errors had Wrecked the lives of both so sadly. She believed hi in to be sincere in his repentance. "Perhaps," she thought hopefully, "all may vet be right."
Two or three days passed»away, before Ora again ventured to the Cemetery. She leared to meet Mr. Piercelie, who, she could but believe, would seek her again. When she did go, it was early in the morning, and Lina accompanied her. The latter went to give some orders about Agnes Montes' grave, and this was a good opportunity. She feared to let her go alone.
The gate was unlocked already, and they went in without ringing. The sexton was at the farthest side of the Cemetery from them, seemingly very busy, and they sent a boy who was playing about the cottage door, to eay that they wanted to see him. Lina waited till he should receive the message, while Ora walked across to their lot.
A few moments later, a piercing scream rang out upon the air. Madeline turned her head just in time to see Ora throw up her hands and then fall to the ground upon her face. Terror for an instant deprived her of motion, but in a moment she recovered self-posses-sion, and hastened to the spot, the sexton following her.
Ora lay as on© dead, close to a strange form stretched out, face downward, upon tho grave. It was a stranger, but instinct told her who hewa»-4he unfortunate husband. A phial was lying empty close by, labelled laudanum, and the hand exposed to view had grasped a Bmall slip of paper which must have slipped from hip fingers and lay upon the ground just beneath. With a beating heart she stooped and picked it up, reading the lines traced there wi tumultuous emotions of pain and pity:
Nina, I cannot live without you, and have come hefo to die. Perhaps you will forgive mo when you find now I haVe expiated ttiy sin, and beneve in my remorse. I Implore yon, let me be buried here with our child—it Is all I ask." Madeline let fall the paper trembling In every limb.
Why, what is this?" said the sexton, now coming tip. "I declare, it Is the man who came nere last night, and stone dead now!"
Yes, quite dead," assented Madeline, bending down io touch the cold hand. "And she Is nearly as lifeless—" now lifting Ora'a head upon her lap, and beginning to chafe her hands. "Do get
something qalckly—some water. "I will.
Do
But
awaZ:
false protestation of penitence. Sir, before she was aw we. She fasstartled, «oh, what
A
ittio cottage, looking surprised at aight will help you."
8
not touch the dead body.
No one must till tha proper authorities I will be back hi a min-
wasonly for a moment, and then
andrelapsed
shall
Ora
...
I dor^oxdaim^d
T~^,.—
to the house,
and my wife
As nnlcklv as possible, Madeline de-
again, and she became terrified
a°"l^l°in['*l^
the wrist of the patient, and when he did speak, it was ask: How did it happen I The mo**eng«r oould give tne no satisfaction, and your note explained nothing. Hoar was she attacked?"
Madeline related briefly how She bad preceded her, and bow, being alarmed
by her shriek, she bad turned to see her fall, and on hastening to her, had found her as one dead b&ide the grave on which was stretched the lifeless form of the miserable suicide.
Bad, bad! We must get her home, my daughter," said the Doctor, at the close. "The shrck has completely prostrated her nervous system."
Reader, we pass rapidly over an interval of time it wore painful to dwell npon. The Inquest—the verdict of suicide—the burial of the penitent husband who had expiated his sin with his life. They laid nlm beside the little child.aa he had pleaded to be laid there in his dying hour, and the green grass wrapped father and daughter in one common mantle of living beauty.
A year has passed away since the morning on which he was fonnd dead, and the revolving wheel of Time has turned up to light new scenes, while the old ones slowly fade from the eye.
Harry Clifton Isstlll In Europe, but he writes cheering letters that bring roses of happiness into the fair cheek of his gentle sister. H» means to come home soon, and bring a pretty little wife, of whom he speaks glowingly. He has not forgotten the old love, but he baa considered It wisely, and mastered it, to give plsoe to one more propitious of future napplness.
Amongst those of onr friends whose interests have been linked with Ore's throughout this story, we find few changes. Anew governess is in the old place at Dr. Clifton's, and the usual routine of life goes on steadily. Ora has been to her old home in the south, and has disposed of all the property once belonging to Edward Piercelie. It affords her all she wanta for future comforts. No need now of labor and toll. Surrounded by her friends, she is resting —not in peace, but in patience. Remorse is in her heart, that she cannot stifle. The one hard, cruel act of her life she could not forget. She had denied a word of forgiveness to a suffering soul that bad rashly sought Its Creator with the heavy weight of sin upon it, and now sho would give her existence, but for one moment of life, in which to set the longing spirit at rest.
But, too late now! she can only pray for pardon, and endure meekly her punishment.
Look once more upon her, reader, ere the curtain falls. She is sitting in the bay window at Dr. Clifton's, the light falling upon her pale, dellcatelv chisaed features. Short rings of hair cluster all around her head, which has been shorn of its wealth of tresses, and gives her a much more girlish look than of Old. She is still in the habiliments of deep mourning, and refuses to soften the solemn color by ono tint of a brighter bue» though Madeline lias more than obce ventured to urge it.
While she sits there, Theodore Ray niond i* announced, and enters as an old, familiar Iriend. She greets bim with the o»,in, placid demeanor of a sister, and permits him to sit down by her, akim* him questions about the family, as she quietly continues the employment that cugijrp^ licr. He does not seetu to like it, and takes the light fabric fjom her hands..
Please allow mo to put this everlasting embroidery away. I want you to talk to nie now. I have come for the answer to my suit. Tell me at once. Am I to go back now and come no more, or am I to hope to take you homo and keep you forever?"
There is no flash upon her cheek—no change in tho light of the blue eyes and she speaks very slowly and sadly, looking in his face: "Theodore, you know what my life has been and is. In the past, pain and niisery beyond what most women experience—far. The future embittered Dy regrets that will never die. If you can be happy with me, thus overshadowed— with all the lightness and spirit of youth crushed out of my nature, and accept a saddened, prematurely old wife, I will not say nay, for you are dearer to me than all earth beside. But I tell yon frankly my ability to make, your life bright with strength and cheerfulness, has gone."
No, dear Ora, you mistake. To mc your very presence is sunshine, and I had rather havoons of your sweet, quiet smiles, than all earth beside. Bless you, darling. I am at peace, now. I havo waited long, Ora, but at last God vouchsafes me a reward that doubly compensates. Mine now—my own sweet wifeGod willing, you shall know sorrow no
THE BSD.
"MOTHER."
It is the cry of the infant, just from the cradle Itls the .only balm tbat will heal the wounded heart in youthful dam "Mother, I'm hurt," "mother^ I'm tired," "mother, sing to me, rock me, tell me Btories." It Is always "mother" with the child and the lad. No one like mother. No hand that falls on the fevered brow tt* softly as* hers no words so sympathetic as those that pass her lips. The bouse would be a grave without her. Life would bo a dreary, thorny road, without her warning voice ana guiding hand. A father may be kind, may love not less, but the wearied child wsnts the mother's arms, her soft lullaby s6nga the caresses of her gentle hand. All childhood is a mixture of tears and joys. A kind word brings a smile, a harsh word a sigh, a fall is pain, a toss a ioy. The first footsteps weak and trembling, grow stronger by the guidance of a mothers love. ..
The little wounds, the torn clothes, the headaches, tho heartaches and trials, all vanish at the words of a mother, and there la built up In the heart of every man an edifice of love and respect that no crime of his can topple down—no dungeon cell affect.
And a lad grows to be a man only to find that "mother" is the same. If he errs, she weeps: if fee is good and manly she rejoices. Here la the only love thai lasts—endures forever.
The wolf of starvation may enter the doQr, bat her love la only tried to abine the brighter. All the world may oall her son a criminal, bnt the mother pnly believes It not. Trials may beset you, storms gather over you, vexations come, ruin drag you down, but there ii one who ever stands firm Inyour cause,who will never leave you. The criminal on1 the scaffold has suffered In feeling because his bad deeds would cause a pang mother's heart. The low and wretchdying in some dark abode of sin, have died with that name npon their lips. There Is no praise like her praise, there are no sad tears that psin us so much as hers. a
Pxsaosa working among vines and bushes at this season are frequently annoyed by a little lnsoct called figger, or chfgger, which burrows under toe skin, producing an intolerable itching and quite often a sore spot. Children are sometimes dosed with medlclno to cure the hive^, when tho eruption Is caused bv chiggere. The insect Is almost invisible to the naked sya, but may be seen, a little red, dot in th« center of the red spot which ita presence causes. Sweet oil, lard, kerosene, or almost any fatty substance, well rubbed in will give relief.
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Tf7 IV HU Saturday Evening
"MAIL,
,-:y
u-.h
FOR THE YEAR
1876,
A MODEL WEEKLY PAPER FOR THE HOME.
TERMS:
One year, (with chrome) 12 00 81x months, (without chremo) SI 00 Three mouths, (without ohromo) ...JO ets.
Mail and office Subscriptions will, invariably, be discontinued at expiration of time paid for.
Encouraged by the extraordinary mooess which has attended the publication of THS SATURDAY EVENING MAIL the publisher has perfected arrangements by which It will henceforth be one of the most popular papers ln the West.
THE CHOICE OF
Two Beautiful Chromoi
Presented to each yearly subscriber, from and after this date. These beautiful pictures Just from the hands of the French chrom artists, on* lalthful copies of oil paintings by the artlKt \V. 11. Baker, of Brooklyn. One, entitled
"Cherry Time"
Represents a bright faced boy, corning from the orchard, bountifully laden with the redripe fruit. The oth«ir, entitled
'"Lily of the Field":
is a beautiful little girl, with one of the sweetest of faces, gathering liUcs in the field. One Is a wood soene, the other has an open meadow in the back ground. They are of striking beauty.
For one dollar extra (£3.00 ln all,) we will send The Mall one year and both chremos mountpd ready for framing. These pictures are catalogued and sold iu the art stores at FOUR DOLLARS EACH.
FRAMES.
1
We have made arraugements with an extensive manufactory gf frames by which we can furnish for One Dollar a frame usually sold for 81.50 and #1.75. These frames are of the best polished walnut and gilt. Here Is the
BILL OF PRICES.
The Mall one year and choice of Chrome 82 06 The Mall one year and Bath Chromes mounted— 8 TO The Mall one year and Both Chromos
FRAMED 5 00
THE SATURDAY EVENING MAIL Is an Independent Weekly Newspaper, elegantly printed on eight pages of book paper, and alms to be,.in every sense, a Family Paper. With this aim ln view, notlilng will appear ln its columns that cannot be read aloud ln the most refined fireside circle.
CLUBBING WITH OTHER PERIODICALS. We are enabled to offer extraordinary inducements ln the way of clubbing with other periodicals. We will furnish THE SATURDAY EVENING MAIL, PRICE S2.00 PER YEAR, and either
0
tho above Chro
mos with any of the periodicals enumerated below at greatly reduced rates. These periodicals will be sent direct from the offices of publication. Here is tho list:
SEMI-WEEKLY.
Semi- Weekly New York Tribune, prlc# 98.00, The Mall and Chromo- —. 94 80
WEEKLY PAPERS.,
IndianapoUt Journal, price 12.00, The Mall and Chromo 18 80 jndianapoUt Sentinel, price (2.00, The
Mail and Chromo 8 N. Y. Tribune, price 82.00, The Mail and Chromo 8 60 Toledo Blade, price 92.00, The Mall and
Clirosio 8 80 N. Y. Sun, The Mail and Chromo 8 00 Prairie Farmer, price 92.00, Tho Mall and Chromo 8 06 Western Rural, price 92 JO, Tho Mail and
Chromo 8 ChiOtgo Advance, price 93.00, Die Mail j«d Chromo...— 4 Chicago Interior, price 9&50, The Mall and Chromo ChUsago Inter-Ocean, price 91.50, The
Mall andCbromo.............^..^............. 8 26 Appleton's Journal, price 94.00, The Mail and Chromo- 6 25 Rural New Yorker, price 93.00, The Mail and Chromo 4 26 Hearth and Home, price 98.00, The Mall and Chromo 4 06 Melhoditt, price 92.60, The Mall and
Ohromo...:. Harper'* Weekly, price 91.00, The .Mail and Chremo 5.80 Harper'» Bator, price 94.00, The Mail and Chromo 5 90 Frank Lestiff IllutlreUed JSewpaper, price 94.00, The Mail and Chromo 8 LsMe* Chimney Garnet, price 94 JO, The
Mall and Chremo 5 00 Boy*' and Oirlt' Weekly, price I2JW, the MaH and Chromo 8 78
MONTHLIES.
Arthur'i Heme Magazine, price 82J50, The MaH and Chromo 94 00 Putenm't Magatine, price 92,00, The
Mall tad Chromo..-.— 8 89 American AgricultuHU, price 91.80. The Mall and Chromo... *00 BemoretT* Monthly, price 93,00, 1 year,
The Mall andChremo„.„....™. 4 35 Uodey'a Ladu't Book, price 93.00, The Mall and Chromo •••vv'YJ 3
4 80
LUtle Corporal, price 91.80, The Mail and Chromo 88 Scribner'i Mmnlhly, price 91.00, The Mail and Chromo 20 Atlantic Monthly, price 94.80, The Mall and Chromo...- a.—.... 5 Old and New, price fLM, The Mail and
Chremo Overlmnd Monthly, prioe 9440, The Mall and CUroruo.-.,..— 6 W Harper't Magattne, price 94.00, The Mali and Chromo...... •i-^v'-i-
8
Gardener'* J/aniy^,priCef2.00,TheMaJl and Chromo....- 9 W Young Folk* Rural, The Mall and Chromo_- nL... —2 75 The Nurtery, price 91^0, The Mail and
Chromo..—..-...-BL meh&Uu, price 98.00, The Mail and Chromo
4
All the premium* offered by the above pub |ioo^n» are included ln this clubbing arrangement.
CLTTBBTNG WITH COUNTY PAPERS We have made arrangements to furnlsti THE MAIC, with Chromo, and any one of the Newspapers In the neighborhood of Terre Haute all for 9M®. ,,
'JUST LOOK AT IT!
The Mail, price....—— 92 00 Your OTInty pnpMyprice. 2 00 The Chromo, worth-. 4 00
Totol 98 00
All these-9tUM)—for 9940. Address P. ft. WUTFALL, f'A 4: Publisher Saturday Evening Mall,
TOKREHAUTE, IND