Saturday Evening Mail, Volume 27, Number 2, Terre Haute, Vigo County, 4 July 1896 — Page 3

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«TH ROUGH THE WOOD.

fhrongh tbe wood, the green wood, the wet wood, the light wood, Lore and I went Maying thousand livae ago. Charts of golden sunlight had made a golden bright wood

In my heart reflected, because I loved yon so.

Through the wood, the chill wood, the brown wood, the bare wood, I alone wet lonely no later than last year. What bad thinned the branches* and wrecked n»y dear and fair wood,

Killed the pale wild rosea and left the rose thorna sear?

Through the wood, the dead wood, the sad wood, the lone wood, Winds of winter shiver lichens old and gray. Von ride past, forgetting the wood that was oar own wood,

All oar own, and withered as ever a flower of May. —New York Tribute.

TRAIN CAN'T WAIT.

She is just 18, with golden hair and gray eyes—laigc gray eyes that laugh just as well as her red lips. Her figure, though a little frail, makes one think what a pretty woman she will be soon. Her hands and arms are those of a child. Is she not still a child? Clara left school but a fortnight ago. She is the beloved and only daughter of a rich miller in the neighborhood of Avesnes.

Nothing more poetical than a mill in the ooantry. It does not disturb the silence of the air with its monotonous tick tack. On the contrary, its noise, strong -and regular, is like an accompaniment to the many other noises of the wind, and of the trees, and of the birds. Clara was charmed with it alL

During a few days after her arrival the whole house was upset, making and receiving calls, dinner parties, dancing parties, lawn tennis—the days were not long enough to hold their pleasures. Then all was quiet at the milL

In the orchard, which was large, the walks were spread over with sand, and the trees, loaded with fruit, afforded a beautiful, shady grove. This was Clara's favorite nook. Here she would go and read poetry. She had been given the works of Lamartine, beautifully bound. Now, Lamartiuo is a very tender poet, and Clara was still in her teens, and this was summer, and tho fragrance of tho flowers and the murmur of the breeze acted 011 her young mind, and through this book she would dream of things that she had never droumed of before.

One day hor mother asked her if she remembered her cousin Aiuert. "Oh, yes, indeed!" said she. This answer came from her heart She blushed, and from her neck to her brow she felt that sort of electricity that produced by a little shame and a great pleasure. "Well," said her mother, "you will see him vory soon.

Clara was about to sav, "Oh! how plad am," but she thought it more pivper to say nothing.

And why was she silent? I will tell you—it was because she had read Lamartine. Why does pretty poetry make one false? Well, 1 don't know, but it speaks of love—and what is lovo? "Well," said Clara, "I have not seen him for two years. I suppose he is changed." "Not more than you," said her mother, casting a loving glance of admiration at her daughter. You were a little girl when you went away. You are a young lady now."

Oiara ran off to her beloved grove to hide the blushes on her cheeks and the beatii gs of her heart She sat down, drew from her pocket her volume of poetry, but read not a lino.

Albert arrived a few days before he was expected, but she was thinking of him. She always had roses on her cheeks, but theso roses changed in peonies when she saw him, and her hands trembled. He took hold of those hands and kissed her on both cheeks.

He was a medical student who had not yet in his brain tho lecst thought of anything serious. Ho had suddenly discovered in himself a vreation fur the beautiful science of iEseulupius, that he might go to Paris to spend a few years of his life and waste a few thousands of his father's francs. "Ah, little eoasin," said he, "you are pretty now. Why, I am afraid I shall fall in love with you."

Slw» looked at him, not knowing what to «yr. "Have you forgotten the good times we had in this garden and over there iu the woods?" "Oh, uo," said she. "And when we would go rowing and I would seare yon by swinging to and fro in the boat to eapsise you?" "Oh, no. I remember it all." "Then why don't yon put your arms around my neck and say pleasant things to tne as you did then?" "1 don't know," she faltered.

Then hc&tul to himself,

44This

oooain

of mine iun.st be a little simpleton." "Well," said he, aloud, "and what Is thi* book?" 'Lamttrtioe. It is beautiful." "I don't think so. I think it stupid." Then, seeing that she was somewhat abashed, he added, "Why does it displease yon that 1 should not care for JUunartine?" "Because I lot* his poems." "Well, if I read poetry I want Alfred de Mu**et I shall send you his works when 1 got to Paris."

At this moment they heard a quick and firm step on the sandy walk, and a young man eame upon them. "Excuse me* mudemoiseHe," said he. "I have just learned that Albert is here and 1 have come to shake hands."

An old saying csune to Clara's mind: **Two is company. three is a crowd." Bhe was too well behaved to say it, so •in* ft the two young men together. When atoms, she reflected that Albert was a very nice cousin, and might make a very fpiod hoaband. Asfor his friend—— pr»U, he was very gool looking man

iMiI

and might be a veiy nice fellow—bat what a difference between the two!

"Yrrarcousin i» a charming girl," said Jack. "Oh, yes, but she is only a schoolgirl." "Well, what else can she be? She is just out of school and not a woman yet Do you know what were my thoughts as I looked at you both?" "How can I know?" "I was thinking that you would make a pretty couple.'' "Now, Jack, what harm have I evedone you that you Hhould want to chain me down?" "Are you#not 25?rt "Is that old age?' "Would you give an old man to your oousin, who will be only 19 next year?" "In two years she will be 20—that will be better still. Then I will be a serious man and an M. D. 'Clara is a good match our fortunes are about equaL I think I might make a living in this country. Well, who knows what may happen one day? I have plenty of time to think of it" "I think your cousin deserves better than that and you ought to be'in love with her." "What! Love at first sight I do think Clara is pretty, but—plenty of time— plenty of time!"

Everybody seemed happy at the mill —even Clara, who listened with pleasure to the compliments of Jber cousin whenever he chanced to be with her, and she thought him so witty "that she quite forgot to show her own wit before him.

In the meantime she was hoping that he would propose before going back to Paris but the last day dawned, and he bad not said the least word about marriage. She hoped till the ilaafc hour then, till the last minute.

Albert gave kisses-all around and said to her: "I will come back next year. I will write to you and send JDe jiusset's works, as I promised."

She plucked up courage and said to him, "Is that all you want to promise, Albert?"

He understood what she meant, but would not promise more, and as his eyes rested on the clock he said: "Goodby, cousin the train is here—it cannot wait"

The life of a student, especially that of a student who does not study, is just as tiresome as any other.

There comes a time when he gets tired of beer, wine and cigars. Albert was in one of his dark days. Since morning he hud felt cross, and would not even smoke his pipe lay on his table with a pile of books and dusty papers. H's tobacco pouch reminded him of Clara—she had embroidered it for him during the week he had spent with her. Then he was also reminded that lsc had promised to write and send De Musset's works. He felt unhappy at these thoughts, and remorse made him go out to repair his forgetfulness.

There is a knock at the door. The servant brings up a letter to him. It is from his mo'her.

His drowsiness gives way" as he reads the lines he. gets up iu a passion, upsetting the table and everything upon it

Clara is to be married, and in a week too! And he is expected to attend the weddinsl "And whom does she marry, I wonaery'' exclaims he "some common country lad, I suppose. No, it cannot be! I liiuir go tlmre and stop it she cannot be sacrificed in this way."

Two hours later he started with a valise in one hand and a bundle under 0110 arm it was Musset's works.

Clara met him at the garden gate she was looking as fresh as the flowers, and he, being conceited, thought that the happiness expressed'on her face was doe to his presence. She was less timid than last ywirand a Httle stouter one could read her heart through her gray eyes and her smiles. "Is what I hoar true,'Clara?" 'Certainly I was about to write to you. I want you here for the wedding.'' "It is impossible!" "Quite possible and true." "With whom?" "With Jack, ofoourae." "Ah, tho scoundrel! There is nothing like a friend to betray one." "Why, Albert, what a short memory you have! Poor Jack would not speak of love before he was quite sure of your feelings toward me. I am very thankful that you set him at liberty to speak, am so proud and happy at being loved by such a noble heart"

Albert threw his bundle on the table. "What is that?" asked Clara. "Musset's works, .had promised them to you." "You are too late, cousin. Jack gave them to me long ago, as 1 was complaining of your forgetfulness." "Tell me, Clara—this is aU a dream, is it not? You are not going to marry Jack?"

She laughed. "And Why 001?" said she. "Because I love you because, if you mean to marry Jack, I start by the first train, and you shall never see me again.

She looked at the clock, as he had done the year before, and said archly, "Then hurry up, cousin, for the train is here, and it cannot wait "—From the French.

Mowateln Railway*.

The oldest mountain railway in Europe is the Rigi, opened in 1871, but tho Mount Washington railway in America was established in 1868. This is also one of the steepest And another is the Green mountain line, also in the United State*. The Petersburg in Germany is very steep, but the steepest oi all is the Mount Pilatus in Switzerland. fauiow. s."'".-

:-v.

Have you ever t:. I cooking potatoes in lard like douwinut*? Select the •mailer potatoes and peel and drop then into boiling fat. They will come to the surface when tbey are coc!.«-d u» shcmld be drained on brown paper. Tht pmatw may be tolled in beaten egg* aid bread cremb* before cooking them iide&t*

THE SOUL'S SONG.

A captive in restricted cell confined. My spirit soars despite grim walls and bars And singeth when it sees the mystic stars. And wben soft moonbeams, kind, aslant have ehined, A« though my cloistered soul they had divined.

When cooling sephyrs herald day in east. And bird throats answer make from tree and vine To deeper song my soul doth e'er incline And longs at matins to assist as priest Aim, I may not join the vocal feast! si .? Rich clustered jewels pass my thought in train. Which lose their order ere they reach my tongue Only their shadowed fornj by me is sung. Conceived in pleasure, told, alas, in pain, Aasome wild bird is captured, bnt when slain.

Not alway in a prison wall of clay Shall 1 my poor restricted song deplore: Beyond the patfcs ethereal clouds explore, Wben sunset leaves ajar its opal door, 111 «»npt unfettered, at the dawn of day.

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ervr. So she pites ont o* th' wagon aa makes a smk t* git trader th' bauk an toft* travels cp toward th* das' clood. figgerin th' Injuns *d be most likely t* look down stream instead of up. bat

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TERRE HAUTE SATURDAY EVfeSING MAIL, JULY 4, 1896.

—Arthur Howard Halt

WINNING THE WIDDER

"It grieves me all fired copious, observed Uncle Cy Clay, gravely contemplating the quarter section of pancake poised on the end of his fork, "t' see th' flirtatious carryin's on o' this yere yaller headed schoolmarm an Doc Everett, more especial as she is already spoke for by Jimmy Duval, an doc is knowed t' be th' only husban an father of a' interestin leetle fambly of 's own, back in Ioway. But then— well, well, they's no 'countin f'r th' actions of th' female sect more like ef they happ'ns t' be o' th' flirtatious v'ri ety, an they most all be. ""V** "V 'I r'member one female in p'ticFar,' he oontinued after sending a large swal low of hot coffee in the wake of the de parted piece of pancake—"I r'member one th't was sho' 'nough scand'lous 'sample o' what cur'us notions th' sect will take an th' onaccountable things they all '11 da 'Twas back in Wyoming, ih '67— time o' th' Sweetwater 'xcitem'nt ye know. Well, me an my two pardners 'd be'n minin out yere in Californy awhile, an was doin well 'nough, but jest's soon's th' rush come along it was 'up stakes' with us, same's a lot o' oth er fool miners, an off we goes t' th' Sweetwater country, ole Bill Heatwole an me an Ben—Ben Haskins, he was t.h' youngest o' us, an chockful o' th' ole Harry's ever any boy you ever seen. But white? That boy was white, he sho' was, ef ever a white man lived. Ef 'e hadn't 'e 'a' be'n yere now, more'n likely. "At Sweetwater, th' Widder Buck kep' a boardin house, an we all boards with 'cr, an we fed high too. But, say, that widder was th' purtiest leetle creature ye ever seen. Wa'n't more'n 24 'r 25, an had rosy cheeks an eyes th't'd just set y'r heart a-thumpin—black's any coal an bright's di'm'nds. Well, she did sho' drive th' boys orazy, an they wa'n't hardly one o' 'em th't wa'n't wild t' be th' landlord o' th't there bean joint Th' wust o' it all was th't they wa'n't none o' 'em but what, one time 'r 'nother, was dead sure he was goin t' s'ceed th'lamented Buck, which was gone b'fore 'bout three years back —f'r ef they ever was a sho' 'nough flirt 'twas th't same Widder Buck. She'd take up an smile sweet't ev'ry new man th't showed up, ontell she had 'im on th' string good an hard. Then f'r th' next "But w'en our Ben jumps in an begins makin love in real ser'us shape, we all begins to calc'late th't th' bloomin widder is sho' ketched a lot an reckons they's goin t' be some splicin did in that there camp b'fore Chris'mas—w'en all of a suddint along comes a lawyer chap hailin from Salt Lake an puts up 't th' Hotel de Widder Buck, thereby causin a hull loto' grief in camp, 'cause he hops in immediate an begins makin love t' th' landlady, her makin no 'bjections as anybody knowed of. "Yere's where Ben makes a dead wrong play f'r, 'nstejid of stickiil to 'is gnus, 'e right off makes a jealous break 'r two, causin a row wi' th' widder, quite natural. Then off goes Ben an hires out t' *h' gove'nm'nt f'r a scout— 'bout that time th' U. P. road was bein built an th' Ogalalla Sioux was makin 'emselves real 011 pleasant chargin round an liftin section han's' hair an sech like playful leetle tricks. So, 's I says, Ben goes off in a huff an leaves th' runnin t' this yere Salt Lake maverick as calls 'isself 'Jedge' Sherman an puts an a hull lot o' boggns airs an talks book English. Say, it jest made us sick —it sho' did—th' way that there couple spooned round. They was sev'ral o' th' boys th't jest ached t' git Sherman intuh a argymint an kill 'im up a lot but they never got uo chance—th' Jedge was too toxj, he was, an too smooth t' get intuh open trouble. 'Jest about Chris'mas time th' Injuns let up a few an lays low, th' weather bein some cold an too many sojers round them parts, an one morn in th' widder gives it out th't she l^ya t' go over t' Green River an enjoy 'erself a lot—she was fever beefin'bout'all work an no play.' So, next day, off she an th' Jedge goes, with a greaser namtf Manuel drnriu .th' muel team. They* jest got acrost th' South Fork an was, pcmoomable. qmteoomf'table an happy, w'en, all of a suddint, Manuel lets out a screech an jumps out of th' wagon, hcllerin th't Injuns was com in. Sherman looks oat an sees a cloud o' dust *bout two mile away (they wa'n't no snow on th' ground), an he jumps out too, an in a holy soooud him an that greaser had them muela cut loose an was aboard 'em bittm the trail rail swift Vr Grrsn River. 'Coarse th' widder screechvd after 'em, but, turn round?—none whatever. W'y, that tiirnul skunk didn't even wave 'is hand! "Wei:, th' wi.r.'r sits an wer^J quite copious f'r awiiilc, an then mak-?« op 'cr mind th't she don't perpose stay there sa got scalped—none what- festkm, bad taste, coated

w'en th' Injuns comes clost high, low and b'hold! They hain't no Injuns at all, but some o' Gen'ral Augur's troops a-drivin in strap stock, an Ben was with 'em. "Well, o' course they tackles on t' th' widder's wagon an heads f'r Green River, mad a hull lot t' think a male critter callin 'isself a man'd run away an leave a woman t' be scalped by Ogalallqs—an they all agrees t' make it dam hot f'r Sherman ef he's ketchable. Ben, he didn't say much, but purty quick 'e rides alongside th' sergeant an speaks t' 'im, real quiet an 'fore long he's a chasin off on a side trail t' git intuh' Green River first 'fjre th' troopers come. "Sherman was in th' barroom o' th' hotel, tellin how the'd be'n ambushed an th' widder killed at th' first shot an how him an th' greaser'd fit an tried t' save 'er body, w'en in walks Ben, 'is face's white's Sherman's an 'is eyes a-blazin. Sherman knowed in a minute th't Ben was after him, an he reached f'r 'is gun, but Ben was too quick, an covered 'im. 'Hoi' on,' says he. 'You dam scoundrel, I ought t' kill ye where ye set hut I hain't no coward, an I -fights fair whoever with—even a cur th't runs away an leaves a woman t' be scalped an murdered by Indiana' And he goes on an tells th' crowd about wh't Sherman had did. O' course ev'ry body wanted t' hop in an do s'm' rapework, wi' th' jedge figgerin as 'It,' but Ben wouldn't have it none at alL 'No, gents,' says he, 'it don't go. I b'lieves in givin all kinds a fair shake. I gives it out th't I perpose t' git th' gent but I does it fair, an gives him th' same show as me. Step outside yere, dam ye, an fight!' "Sherman begged an pleaded a hull lot, but it didn't go, an after gittin a few swift kicks fr'm some o' th' gang, out he walks, wobblin lots in th' knees and ahn.lriTi all over, an lines up in th' street Cheyenne Pike was master o' ceremonies. 'Twenty paces^rente,' says he. 'Shoot an advance a snootin. Air ye ready? One, two, three—fire!' "How 'twas did, nobody ever even guessed. Ben was's good a shot as they was in Wyoming. Maybe th' Jedge was, too but he was so shaky they say he c'd hardly hcid his gun. Anyways, they was only four 'r five shots took— then pore ole Ben throws up 'is han's an drops—Sherman'd got 'im in th' forehead, slick an clean. "While they was pickin Ben up an carryin 'im inside, Sherman got lost in th' shuffle. Ef he hadn't he'd 'a' sho' be'n killed. But he sneaks off an lays low som'eros an nobody sees 'im ontell late that day. "'Bout supper time one o'th' boys comes rushin intuh th' Eagle Bird c'nsid'ble flustrated. 'Wha' d'ye think, boys?' says he, w'en he ketched 'is breath. 'Th' Widder Buck and that skunk Sherman is spliced!' 7 "O' course th' gang thinks he's joshin an snorts at 'im quite a lot but he sticks t' th' story. Yessir,' he says, 'they was tied up an hour ago b' Jedge Billings. It's straight' .f "An so it was. Pore Beh wa'n't even stiff, n'r they hadn't got 'im laid out, b'fore that son of a gun an th' widder was hitched duly 'cordin t' law. O' course th' boys shivereed 'em, and then give 'em three hours t' leave town, but that didn't do no good. Jedge Sherman had the widder an 'er wad, an pore ole Ben gits nothin but a bang up funeral an six feet o' dirt t' lay in. "All th' ole gang th't went intuh th' Sweetwater rush r'members all about this yarn an, say, I'll bet they wa'ii't one o' 'em but what's b'en more 'r less leary o' widders sence then. They're mighty queer sort o' cattle, these women folks, an I gives 'em up."—Exchange.

Laxnry

They tell a story of a man of luxurious habits who volunteered as a private soldier in a cavalry regiment during the late war. By what is popularly known as the "irony of fate," he had to perform his services in the roughest possible places and in the roughest possible way.

Sometimes "luck" was so contrary that the only meal he had was a few grains of corn that he stole from the ears provided for his horse.

One of his companions, who Was''talking about tiiis, was asked if these hardships and privations cured the volunteer of his luxurious habits. He answered that they did not that when they were fortunate enough to find a few planks to lie down on at night, the luxury lover searched among them to see whether he could not get one of soft wood.—Philadelphia Times.

s. The Icebox.

In arranging for the supply of ice it is better to have the box filled to its utmost twice or three times a week rather than a smaller piece every day. When the box is thoroughly chilled, it keeps not only the meat and vegetables, but the ice itself. Put in 150 pounds if possible, and on the morning of the fourth day it will he found that a piece will still remain. Another caution is to open the part where the ice is kept as rarely as possible. The cold chamber is the place to put everything, even bottles of water and butter. The gust of heated air that strikes directly upon the ice when the refrigerator door is opened is the deadly agent to make it disappear. —New York Times.

Constipation

Ouaes folly half tbe sickness in the world. It retains the tigested food too ktag in tbe bowels and produce* Mboosaess, torpid Brer, todi-

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