Terre Haute Weekly Gazette, Terre Haute, Vigo County, 22 August 1878 — Page 3

THE DEAD.

A lily broken by the rain, Before a single earthly strain, lias on It* velvet whiteness lain A snowy bird that clo&e caressed By snow-soft, brooding mother breast, Dares yet forsake the sheltering nest,

And straight, before Its silver wings Have ever stooped to baser things, Flies ap to heaven, and flying singe, These and all other pare and mild And lovely obJccts, andefiled, Are typos of srhat thou wort, our child! —[Detroit Free Press.

WIDOW COBB'S FIRST LOVE The fire crackled cheerfully upon the broad hearth of the old farm house kitchen, a cat and three kittens basked in the warmth, and a deciepid dog lying lull in the reflection of the yellow blaze wrinkled his black nose approvingly as he turned his hindfeet where his forefeet had been. Over the chimney there hung several fine hams and pieces of dried beef. Apples were festooned along the ceiling, and crooked neck squashes vied with red peppers and slips of dried pumpkin, in garnishing each window frame. There were plants, too, on the window ledges—

horse-shoegeraniums

and dew plants,

and a monthly rose, just budding, to say nothing of pots of violets that perfumed the whole whenever they took it into their purple heads to bloom. The floor was carefully swept, the chairs had not a speck of dust upon leg or round the long settee near the fire-place shone as if it had just been varnished and the eight-day clock in the corner had its white face newly washed, and seemed determined to tick the louder for it. Two arm chairs were drawn up at a cosy distance from the hearth and each other a candle, a newspaper, a pair of spectacles, a dish of red cheeked apples and a pitcher of cider, filled a little table between them. In one of the chairs sat a comlortable-looking woman of about forty-five, with cheeks as red as the apples, and eyes as dark and as bright as they had ever been, resting her elbow on the table [and her head upon her hand, and looking thoughtfully into the fire. This was the Widow Cobb, relict of Deacon Levi Cobb, who had been mouldering into dust in the Bytown churchyard for more than seven years. She was thinking of her -dead husband, probably, because—all her work being done and the servants gone to bed—the sight of the empty chair at the other side of the table, and the silence of the room, made her a little lonely. "Seven years!" so the widow's reverie ran. "It seems as if it were more than fifteen—and yet I don't look so very old, either, perhaps it's not having any children to bother my life out. as other people have. They may say what they like, children are more plague than profit— that's my opinion. Look at my 6ister Jerusha, with her 6ix boys. She'8 worn to a shadow, and I'm sure they have done it, though she will never own it.

The widow took an apple from the dish and began to pare it. "How dreadful fond Mr. Cobb used to be of these grafts! He will never eat any more of them, poor fellow, for I don't suppose they have any apples where he's gone to.

Heighol I remember very well how I used to throw apple-parings over my head when I was a girl to see who I was going to mary.

Mrs. Cobb stopped short and blushed. In those days she did not know Mr. Cobb and had always looked eagerly to 6ce if the pel did not form a capital S, Her meditations took anew turn. "How handsome Sam Payton was, and how much I used to care about him!" Jerusha

say6

he went away from our vil

lage just after I did, and no one has heard of him since. And what a silly thing that quarrel was! If it had not been for that —Here came along pause, during which the widow looked very steadlastly at the empty arm chair "of Levi Cobb, deceased. Her fingers played carelessly with the apple paring she drew it safely towards her, and looked around the room. "Upon my word, it is very ridiculous and 1 don't know what the neighbors would say if they saw me."

Still the plump fingers drew the peel nearer. "But they can't see me, that's a comfort and the cat and old Bowse will never know what it means. Of course I don't bcl cve ahything about it."

The parings hung gracefully from her hand. "But still, I should like to try it would seem like old times, and——"'

Over her head it went, and curled up quietly on the floor at a little distanceOld Bowse, who always slept with one eye open, saw it fall and marched deliberately up to smell it. "Bowse,*Bowse, don't thouch it!" cried his mistress and bending over it, with a beating heart, she turned red as fire. There was a handsome capitalS as one could see.

Aloud knock came suddenly at the door. The dog growled and the widow screamed and snatched up the apple par ing. "It's Mr. Cobb—it's his "spirit come back again because I tried that silly trick," she thought fearfully, to herself.

Another knock louder than the first, and a man's voice exclaimed: "Hillo, the house!" o? "Who is it?" asked the widow, somewhat relieved to find that the departed Levi was still safe in his grave upon the hillside. *.' "A stratiger," said the voice. "What do you want?" "To get lodging here for the night."

The widow deliberated. "Can't you go on? There'6 a house half a mile further on if you keep to the aright hand side of the road, and turn to the left after you get by—" "It's raining cats and dogs, and I'm very delicate" said the stranger, coughing! I'm wet to the skin. Don't you think you can accomodate me? I don't mind sleeping on the floor." "Raining, is it? I didn't know that"

And the kind hearted little woman unbarred the door very quicklv. "Come in, whoever you majr be. I only asked you to go because I am alone woman, with only opej^rvaijt in the house."

The stranger entered, shaking himself, -like a Newfoundland dog, upon the step, and scattering a little shower of ,drops over his hostess and her nicely swept fl®or. "Ah, that looks comfortable after a

man has been out for hours in a storm," ht said, as he caught sight of the fire, and striding along towards the hearth, followed by Bowse, who sniffed suspiciously at his heels, he stationed himself in the arm-chair—Mr. Cobb's arm-chair, which had been "sacred to his memory for seven years." The widow was horrified, but her guest was so weary and worn out that she could not ask him to move, but busied herself in stirring up the blaze, that he might the sooner dry his dripping clothes. A new thought struck her. Mr. Cobb had worn a comfortable dressing gown during his illness, which still hung in the closet at her right. She could not let this poor man catch his death by sitting in that wet coat. If he was in Mr. Cobb's chair, why should he not be in Mr. Cobb's wrapper? She went nimbly to the closet, and took it down, fished out a pair of slippers from the boot-rack below, and brought them to him. "I think you had better take off your coat and boots you will have the rheumatic fever, or something like it, if you don't. Here are some things for you to wear while they are drying. And you must be hungry, too. "I will go into the pantry and get you something to eat."

She bustled away, "on hospitable thoughts intent and the stranger made the exchange with a quizzical smile playing around his libs. He was a tall, well formed man, with a bold but handsome face, sunburned and bearded, and looked anything but delicate, though his blue eves looked out from under a forehead as white as snow. He looked around the kitchen with a mischievous air, stretched out his feet before him, decorated with the defunct deacon's slippers. "Upon my word, this is stepping into the old man 8 shoes with a vengeance I And what a hearty, good-humored look ing woman she is—kind as a kitten and he leaned forward and stroked the cat and her brood, and then patted old Bowse upon the head. The widow, bringing in sundry good things, looked pleased at his attentions to her dumb friends. "It's a wonder Bowse does not growl. He generally does when strangers touch him. Dear me, how stupid!"

This last remark was addressed neither to the stranger nor the dog, but to herself. She had forgotten that the little stand was not empty, and there was no room on it for the things

9he

held.

"Oh, I'll manage that," said her guest gathering up paper, candle, apples and spectacles, (it was not without a little pang that she saw them in his hand, for they had been tha deacon'9, and were [placed each night, like the arm chair, beside her,) and depositing them on the settee. "Give me the table cloth, ma'am—I've learned that along with a score of other things, in my wanderings. Now let me relieve you of those dishes they are far too heavy for those little hands"—the widow blushes—"and now please sit down with me or I can't eat a morsel." "I had supper long ago, but really I think I can take something more," said Mrs. Cobb, drawing near the table. "Of course you can, my dear lady. In this cold autum weather, people ought to eat twice as much as they do in warm. Let me give you apiece of the ham— your own curing, dare bay." "Yes my husband was very fond of it. He used to say no one understood curing ham, and drying beef better than myself." "He was a most sensible man, I am sure. I will drink your health, madam, in this cider."

He took along draught and sat down his glass. "It is like nectar."

The widow was feeding Bowse and the cat (who thought they were entitled to a share of every meal ate in the house,) and did not quite hear what he said. I fancy she would hardly have known what "nectar" was, so it was quite as well. "Fine dog, madam, and a very pretty cat." "They were my husbind's favorites," and a sigh followed the answer. "Ah, your husband must have been a very happy man."

The blue eyes looked at her so long that she grew flurried. "Is there anything more I can do for you, sir?" she said at last. "Nothing, I thank you. I have finished."

She robe to clear the things away. He assisted her, and somehow their hands had a queer way of touching as they carted the dishes to the pantry shelves. Coming back to tne kitchen, she put the apples and cider in their places, and brought out a clean pipe and a box of tobacco from an arch recess near the chimney. "My husband always said he could not sleep after eating supper late unless he smoked." she said. "Perhaps you would like to try it." "Not if it is going to drive you"iwAy," he anbwered for she had a candle in her hand. "Oh, no, I do not object to smoke at all." She put the candle down—Some faint suggestion about "propriety," appeared to trouble her she glanced at the clock and felt reassured. It was only half-past nine.

The stranger pushed the stand back, after the pipe was lit, and drew her easy chair a little nearer the fire and his own. "Come, sit down," he said, pleadingly. "It is not late and when a man has traen knocked about in California, and all sorts of places, for a score of years, he is glad enough to get into a berth like this and have a pretty woman to speak to again." "California? Have you been to California?" she exclaimed, dropping into the chair. Unconsciously, she had long cherished the idea that Sam Payson— the lover of her youth—with whom she foolishly quarreled, had pitched his tent, after many years wanderings, in that faroff land. Her heart warmed to one who, with something ot Sam's looks and ways about him, had also been sojourning in that country, very possibly had met him —perhaps he had known him intimately. At that moment her heart beat quick, and she looked very graciously at the bearded stranger, who, wrapped in Mr. Cobb's dressing-gown, wearing Mr. Cobb's slippery and sitting in Mr. Cobb's chair, beside Mr. Cobb's wife, smoking Mr. Cobb's pipe with such an air Of feeling'thoroughly and. comfortably at home. "Yes* ma'am, I've been to California for six years. And before that, I went quite round the world in a whaling ship." "flnnH firsnniitl" smoke

'Good Gracious! Thestranger sent a puff of

THE TERRE HAUTE WEEKLY GAZETTE.

curling gracefully over his head, "It's •ery strange, my dear lady,' 'how often you see one thine as you go wandering about the world after that fashion." "And what is that?" "Men without house or home above their heads, roving here and there, turning up in all sorts of old places—caring very little for life as a general thing, and making fortunes just to throw them away again—and all for one reason. You don't ask what it is. No doubt you know already very well."

v/ r:

"I think not, sir.", "Because a woman has jilted them." "Here there was along pause, and Mr. Cobb's pipe emitted short puffs with surprising rapidity. A guilty conscience needs no accuser the widow's cheeks were dyed with blushes as she thought of the absent Sam. "I wonder how women manage when they get served in the same way," said the stranger musingly. "You never meet them roaming up and down in that style." "No," said Mrs. Cobb with some spirit, "if a woman is in trouble she must stay at home and bear it the best way she can. And there's more women bearing such things than we know of, I dare, say." i'y "Like enough. We never know whose hand gets pinched in a trap unless they scream. And women are too shy or too sensible—which you choose—for it." "Did you ever, in all your wanderings, meet anvone by the name of Samuel Payson?" asked the widow unconcernedly.

The stranger looked towards her—she was rumaging at the table drawer for her knitting work and did not notice him. When it was found, and the needles in motion, he answered her. "Payson? Sam Payson? Why he was my most intimnte triend. Do you know him?" "A little—that is, I used to when I was a girl. Where did you meet him?" "He went with me on the whaling voyage I told you of—and afterwards to California. We had a tent together, and some other fellows with us, and we dug in one claim for more than six months." "I suppose he was quite well?" "Strong as an ox, my dear lady." "And—and happy?" pursued the wid ow bending over her knitting. "Hum—the less said about it the better, perhaps. But he seemed to enjoy life after a fashion of his own, and he got rich out there, or rather, I will say, well on."

Mrs. Cobb did not pay much attention to that part of the story. Evidently she had not finished asking questions, but she was puzzled about the next one. At last she brought it out beautifully. '•Was his wife with him in California?" "His wife, ma'am? Why, bless you he has got none." "Oh, I thought—I meant—I heard—" here the little widow remembered the sad fate of Ananias and Saphira, and stopped short before she told such a tre mendous falsehood." "Whatever you heard of marrying war, all nonsense, I can assure you. I linow him well, and he had no thought of the kind about him. Some of the boys used to tease him about it, but he soon made them stop." "How?" "He just told them frankly that the only woman he ever loved had jilted him years before, and married another man. After that no one, except myself, ever mentioned the subject to him again."

Mrs. Cobb laid her knitting aside, and looked thoughtfully into the fire. "He was another specimen of the class of men I was speaking of. I have seen him face death a score of times as quietly as I face the fire. 'It matters very little what takes me off,' he used to say, 'I've very little to live for, and there's no one that will 6hed a tear for me when I am gone.' It is a sad thought for a man to have—isn't it?"

Mrs. Cobb .sighed as she said she thought it was. "But did he ever tell you the name of he ad "I knew her first name." ,,, "What was it?" "Maria."

The plump little widow almost started out of her chair her name was spoken exactly as Sam would have said it. "Did you know her too?" he asked, looking keenly at her. "Yes." wit {ttvrj "Intimately?" -IOI "Yes." "Where is she now? Still happy with her husband, I suppose, and never giving a thought to the poor fellow 6he drove out into the world?" "No,'', said Mrs. Cobb, shading her face with her hand, and speaking unsteadily. "Nb her hn6band is dead." "Ah! But still she never thinks Sam?" T7~r7~-

There was a dead silence. .. "Does she?"

"How can I tell?" gp?aw»M aijif "Are vou still friends?") })tim "Yes." "Then you ought to know, and you do. Tell me/' "I am sure I don't know why I should. But if I do, you must promise, me, on your honor, never to tell him, if you should happen to meet him again." "Madame, what you say to me shall never be repeated to mortal man, upon my honor." "Well, then, she does reroerpber him." "Bat, how 'j "As kindly, I think, as he could wish." "I am glad to hear it, for his sake. You and I are friends of both parties we can rejoice with each other."

He drew his chair much nearer hers, and took her hand. One moment the widow resisted, but it was a magnetic touch the rosy palm lay quietly in his, and the dark beard bent so low that it nearly touched her shoulder. It did not matter much. Was he not Samuel's friend It he was not the rose had he not dwelt very near it for along time "It was a foolish quarrel that parted them," said the stranger softly. "Did he tell you about it *?**... a he ha "Did he blame her nrach »n "Not so much as himself. He' said that his jealousy and ill-temper drove her to break off the match but he thought sometimes if he had only gone back and spoken kindly to her she would have married him, afterfrll.'* "I am sure she would," said the widow, piteously.

"She has owned it to roe more

9ui wi ©£i^u ?.

times." "SI with£

than a thousand not happy,!

Mrs. Cobb looked scared

he was anoth-

then,

er?" "Mr.—that was to say. her husband— was very good and kind," said the woman, thinking of the lonely grave on the hillside, rather penitently, "and they lived pleasantly together. There never was a harsh word between them." .« "Still, might she not have been happier with Sam? Be honest and *just say what you think." "Yes." "Bravo! That is what I wanted to come at. And now I have a secret to tell you, and you must break it to her.',

"Whatis it?" I want you to go and see her, wherever she may be, and say to her: Maria'— what makes you start so "Nothing, only you speak so like some one that I know." "Do I? Well, take the rest of tne message. Tell her that Sam loved her through the whole that is, when he heard that she was free again he began to work hard at making a fortune he got it and he is coming to share it with her, if she will let him. Will you tell her this?"

The widow did not answer. She freed her hand from his, and covered her face with it.

By-and-by she looked up again. He was waiting patiently. "Well?" "I will tell her."

He rose from his seat and walked up and down the room. Then he came back, and leaning on the mantle-piece, stroked the yellow hair of Bowse with his slipper. "Make her quite understand that he wants her for his wife. She may live where she'likes, only it. must be with him." "I will tell her." "And what do you think she will say?" he asked in an altered tone. "What can she say but—come?" "Hurrah!"

The stranger caught her out of her chair as if she had heen a child, and kissed her. "Don't, don't!" cried she, "I'm Sam's Maria." "Well, I'm Maria Sam!"

Off went the dark wig and the black whiskers there smiled the dear face she had not forgotten. I leave you to imagine the tableau. Even the cat got up to look, and Bowse sat on his stump of a tail and wondered if he was on his heels or his head. The widow gave one little scream and then she—

But stop! Quiet people like you and me, dear readers, who have got over all of there follies, and can do nothing but turn up our noses at them, have no business here. I will only add that two hearts were very happy, that Bowse con eluded after awhile that all was right, and so laid down again, and that one week after there was a quiet wedding at the house that made the farmers stare The widow had married her "first love."

ANALYSIS OF WHEAT. From the Prairie Farmer. The formation of any grain is interesting as showing its peculiar fitness to the needs of man. The protection its husk affords its inner treasure indicates design and purpose. The fact that the oil within the husks protects the gluten, starch and salts from the influence ol moisture, and keeps these constituents in a condition fit tor food through long periods of time, is a strong demonstration ot the Creator's godness and per sistent love for all the objects of his hand.

The husk envelope varies in its properties. In some wheat it is thin and smooth in others thick and rough. In some it is dark, in others light in some tough, and in others brittle. In some it is adherent to the kernel, in others it flakes off under the influence of the burrs or millstones. These varying circumstances vary the value of the different kinds of grain. These constituents of the grain, gluten, starch, oil, and salts have a special position in its substance, slill they are somewhat distributed throughout the mass. Directly below the husk is a layer of a darkish matter, harder than the more central parts, »nd thus not so easily reduced to powder. This is the gluten adhering to the husk, containing oil enclosed in minute cells. Within this crust of oil and gluten is the starch, more brittle in its texture, whiter in its color, more easilv pulverized than the constituents encircling it. It is not pure starch, but it forms the whitest and finest flour. These several constituents are somewhat mingled in the body of the grain, and yet each exists in excess in certain parts already indicated. Such is the general anatomy of wheat and other grains. But we cannot pass a more minute description of so wonderful a gift of God to man. The outer coat or husk of grain consists of three layers of cells. Under these there is a single layer of cells. Under this single layer is another layer of cells containing gluten. These layers form the bran. Below them are layers of starch grains, filling the inner portion of the seed. An important point is that these layers are able to resist the pulverizing influence ot grinding in various degrees. The bran is tough and fibrous, and so is least pulverized. The gluten, adhering to the bran, is more finely pulverized, while the brittle starch, the largest constituent of the grain, is most completely crushed and reduced to the finest dust. In this wav the different, constituents of grain are easily separated by using seives of different degrees of fineness, forming four or more grades that vary not only in fineness, but in composition and nutritious and hygicnic properties.

From what we have already said, the reader may infer that the quantity of bran in different kinds of wheat and other grains varies. The amount of gluten adhering to it depends upon the mode of grinding or crushing.

The average percentage of bran is 15, and it is not waste, nor useless, as we may see from the following reliable analysis of six specimens of rye, namely: Oil, 5 salts, 7 water, 13 nitrogen material, 19 husk and starch, 55." Bran, then,"is not a pure fibrous- innutritknxs and indigestible material. This staterment shows that oM« salt and nitrogenous, and so nutritious,. matter if more abundant in bran than in starch, or the inhef^portion of the seed.

Mealtidcsta at J. H. r. Th«

Chapman's pass l«i good as tfdla, betnj

currency, xney are as go

,t. .,Oj

Pi**

Mr iff

IT DOES NOT CONTAIN MERCURY in any form it is an innocent preparation, not capable of doin^ tht slightest injury to th* most tender infant.

Absolutely Pu*e.

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:Ci

Celebrated American

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A E A N E E

No better cathartic can be used prepaid story to, or after taking Quinine. As a simple purgative they are un•qualed. '»t* Ifi f'.itftvfi'l

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THE GENUINB sol

WORM SPECIFIC OR "7

VERMIFUGE.

'.yf* rrJ- !s w"

SYMPTOMS OF WORM'S.

THE

countenance is pale and lead-en-colored, with occasional flushes, or a circumscribed spot on one or both cheeks the eyes become doQ the pupils dilate an azure seiHidrcle runs along the lower eye-lid the nose is irritated, swells, and sometimes bleeds a swelling of the upper lip occasional headache, with humming or throbbing of the ears an unusual secretion of saliva slimy or tarred tongue breath very foul, particularly in the morning appetite variable, sometimes voracious, with a gnawing sensation of the stomach, at others, entirely gone fleeting pains in the stomach occasional nausea and vomiting violent pains throughout the abdomen bowels irregular, at times costive stools slimy, not unfrequently tinged with blood belly swollen and hard urine turbid respiration occasionally difficult, and accompa* nied by hiccough cough sometimes dry and convulsive uneasy and disturbed sleep, with grinding of the teeth temper variable, but generally irritable, &c. *r

SELLERS' LIVER PILLSj nm Staadtrd Iml tor lb« loan tf

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DR.

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-IMTTNURMTLLMILIJRISLNLMTLTE

A WNTOIISRIJTTWTAI Mat mooMifal, hit dm#}

and Iapoteneyt

th* (Malt or Mtf-abtw la h»«*1 MOMM to a*

tarar7wn.orMl1w.4MUM,Malaal

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lowtacofltetKHwrtniMM, KmUdda*, (nlcbt NRI* •IOOI BY drains),

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201 SO. CtAEE ST^CBICASO, ItL. DR. C. BIGELQWi [fTho hu been kaMT R|i«4 In the me 'mentor all SEXCAI UTCHEOIAC

STPHItn, MIOEBHOtlf T£s1^^UCTnuf'oScnTni wiee*«r«e*emtriMn or treated w\tH I In knlftlM nt SEXDAIi BrSUITT tvstfsas nsxss

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